


An American Dream

by JD_Riley



Series: Victorian A/B/O [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Break Up, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, England (Country), F/M, First Time, Historical, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, New York City, Omega Verse, Omega/Omega, Omegaverse, Original Fiction, Sex Toys, Switching, Taboo, Vaginal Sex, Victorian, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Riley/pseuds/JD_Riley
Summary: The only thing that could fix the disaster of Miss Amelia Watson's first London season is a large and tempting dowry that can only be obtained through a visit to her wealthy, distant uncle in New York--a task she has well enough in hand despite her reluctance to actually be married.  Yearning for some kind of unnamed freedom, trouble topples straight into her life and straight into her arms in the form of a roguish, foul-mouthed boxer whose promise to show her the "real" New York sets her soul alight and threatens to shatter her heart.





	1. Chapter 1

Her mother had asked her something but for the life of her, she wasn't sure what it had been. She had spent so much of her time attempting to tune out the older, obnoxious woman that in many cases, this one a case of the like, she simply could not hear her when she spoke. It was more than likely useless drabbling about their destination which, though she could not admit it aloud, had by itself put a hard bout of giddiness into her chest. A fluttering of butterflies that would not seem to corral themselves by any means.

“Amelia?”

She blinked at her mother and the woman's hard, steely eyes narrowed at her only daughter.

“Have you been listening to me?”

There was a warning in that tone and it only served to put a hard fire in Amelia Watson's heart. As much as she would have liked to have distanced herself completely from the old hag, it was impossible to claim that there could be no relation. She recognized the cold resolve her mother was infamous for within herself and also recognized when she was most likely to use it—against the old bitch. It was in such times that she was often woeful to be deprived of the stabilizing factor that had kept her mother's vitriol in check for much of her childhood. But her father had died only a few years back and she was left with no one but her petulant mother, a woman infuriated by their somewhat embarrassing position as needy relations.

“Wretched girl,” her mother mumbled while she bent down over her embroidery.

Amelia flipped open her fan and fluttered it close to her throat while she stared across the common salon. There were only perhaps twenty to thirty passengers who could be accommodated by the packet they had chosen and most of them were businessmen. There was but one other Omega debutante and she and the girl had become acquainted almost immediately, trading stories from their season and marveling that they hadn't spoken in London despite having been invited to several of the same soirees. She found herself more annoyed than sickened by the heavy scents of the businessmen and she was relieved to find that there were a greater number of Betas aboard than Alphas. It was for the good of she and Miss Naverdeen to have sensible heads about in case their heats should have come early.

Without speaking to her mother, she jutted out her chin and looked down her nose at her. After all, it was not Amelia's fault that her father had been taken by illness and it was most certainly not her fault that the gentlemen of the ton had been so terribly cruel to her. She quirked her mouth. For they _had_ been cruel to her. Despite everything, they had been so terribly cold. She had thought that she had presented herself very fetchingly but her lack of a dowry seemed to make everything so much worse for her. Being cast in the light of poor relations had harmed her marriage prospects beyond measure and even as the gracious and generous Omega hostesses invited her to plenty of soirees and balls and garden parties, she was duly noted by the Alpha lords and heirs and cast to the side immediately. It was no matter. She had no wish for a mate and by the end of the season, she had welcomed any sabotage.

Mrs Watson's words rasped against her, grating in their warning. “You had best be kind to your uncle, Amelia. He could very well be your only chance at salvaging your tattered reputation. I'll not be buying you any new gowns for next season so you had better charm him enough to bestow you a gift. If he is not to be your patron, we are to wind up destitute.”

She cast a wry glance around at the salon and then rolled her eyes with a slight sigh. Her voice was measured and she made sure to sound as bored as possible. “If we were even near to being destitute, we should be slumming it in steerage. I have doubt that my cousin would care to be held in such low regard as to allow for his relations to live in poverty. You forget that Nathan has already pledged to pay for my next season and that we are in no way in any danger of the gutter.”

Her cousin Nathan, Lord Ormsby, had been a constant relief to her. Though he was shy and newly titled, he spent most of his days leaving the Watsons to their own endeavors while he puttered about in his greenhouses on his estate. He had seen no issue with allowing she and her mother to roam freely and live in the rooms of his manor house and, being without a mate, he had even allowed the women to host a small estate party the previous summer.

Her mother grumbled with ill humor, “I shall not be happy with him until he marries you, as insufferable as he is.”

“Mother,” she stated flatly, “He is uninterested in me.”

“Oh yes,” she grumbled again. “Much in preference to a different sort.”

She gave a sigh and fluttered her fan a little faster. Nathan's casual approach to intimacy with his Beta valet had been much of a shock to her mother when she had finally noticed their sometimes conspicuous flirtations and made the unfortunately correct assumptions as to their relationship. It was her dependence upon his generosity that had made her mother stay her tongue when it came to his private affairs and what she thought of his blatant _improprieties._ She rolled her eyes again at her thoughts. Nathan was a darling man and a strong and compassionate Alpha. Whatever the Viscount wished to do, it was none of her concern in the slightest. He stayed on his estate, traveled to London when it was required of him, and worked tirelessly on his studies with his plants, often showing his work to Amelia with great enthusiasm.

For all this, she had turned down his private offer to furnish her with a dowry. He had been confused at first, scratching the side of his head as he was wont to do when she had driven him to befuddlement.

_“Would you have a care if I were to grow old and die within your manor, my Lord? Your companion in friendship?”_

She smiled to herself when she recalled his response.

_“Unmarried? Without children? What sort of Omega wishes for such?”_

_“This sort, it would seem. The Alphas of London are not so kind to me and I have no interest in them, aside. It is my mother's wish that I be married. Not mine.”_

He had pursed his lips and had only nodded, agreeing to resist her mother's pestering hints as to her daughter's dowry. When Mrs. Watson had announced that she had convinced her distant brother-in-law in America to let them visit and that it was likely that he would furnish her with a dowry, Amelia and Nathan had exchanged alarmed glances over the breakfast table, his valet, Cuthbert, dropping a full teacup onto the floor in shock. She had spent several nights lounging with the two of them in one of Nathan's private upstairs parlors, chatting languidly about how lovely it was on the estate during the hot months after the season and how everything seemed so _perfect_ the way it was. They had commiserated with her plight of having to suffer several more seasons, the couple even going so far as to suggest that Nathan accompany her to London to provide a protective barrier that would discourage any disagreeable suitors. Now, with this trip to America during the off-season, she could see her future slowly being mapped out before her. The pressure to be married and the bait of a substantial dowry could rip all semblance of choice and will from her grasp.

Her mother did not speak to her again until they had come into port and had settled into a cramped but cozy little carriage that would take them to her uncle's home in New York. She could only thank the heavens that her mother was a Beta and that her smell was not overpowering with her disapproval and muddy disposition.

“I expect you to charm him quite well, Amelia. No talk of how things fell apart this past season. He does not need to know how you've embarrassed us.”

“How _I_ embarrassed us?” she asked incredulously.

“It was _your_ name in the society papers and I need not remind you of how poorly that did for us.”

She sniffed. “It was one ball and I was defended, if you'll recall. There is nothing I can much do about a poorly mannered Alpha with a mind to spread rumors. Lady Hayworth was quite sympathetic and I do not believe I've suffered at all for the event.” She stuck up her little nose. “To the devil with all those damned Alphas.”

Her mother's eyes flashed dangerously and she drew up, affronted by her daughter's crude words. “Amelia! You will speak with civility before your uncle. Sometimes I feel that you forget your own good breeding!” She puffed. “ _Wretched girl!_ ”

The house was large and settled among young trees. The Georgian style architecture was something she had read about at length in one of the books her father had brought back from his trips to America and she appreciated it here with her uncle's estate. The harmonic structure and balance of work and landscaping was soothing to her and pleasant to view, the stonework more organic and natural than the sometimes unsightly brick of some manor houses. She picked up her skirts and tapped up the steps, giving the butler a nod before she was greeted warmly by the housekeeper and led into the parlor.

Her uncle was her father's younger brother, the both of them Betas and fairly typical for their status. He stood by the mantle and turned around, his face relatively youthful despite his gray hair and the crows feet that had gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Finally I am to meet my fabled niece. Please, sit, Miss Amelia. A sherry perhaps?”

“Yes I—”

“No.” her mother interjected. “It is not for a lady to have spirits at such a time of day, I'm certain you understand, Mr. Watson.”

His brow ticked downward ever so slightly before he allowed his expression to resume its passivity. “Of course. Please. Call me Howard. All of this formality and we have the same name.” He chuckled, his eyes still shifting to Amelia. “I had heard so much about you, my dear. Mason was extremely proud of you. Said that you were the most head-strong little miss he'd ever met in his life. I imagine that must make the Alphas quite nervous around you.”

She grinned, taking a liking to him almost immediately. “Well I—”

“She could be very much sought after,” he mother squeaked, “if not for her unfortunate circumstances. Her wit is something of a gift. I imagine the Alpha Lords would appreciate it much better if they were to spend more time engaging her.”

Howard's mouth was left slightly opened and there was a wrinkle between his brows. Amelia could have laughed at his placid but obvious consternation at being seemingly unable to _engage_ with his niece at all in the same manner as he must assume the Alphas could not. “Hmm,” he mused. “I must assume that you are her chaperone, then?”

“Oh yes. One cannot be too careful.”

Howard passed her a secretive but commiserating glance. “I see.” He tapped a gloved finger to his lips and took in a deep breath. “I have had the staff move your things to your rooms, Mrs. Watson, perhaps I shall have the housekeeper show you to them while I take my niece for a small stroll about the gardens. I most certainly must get to know her better and she is perhaps more likely to speak candidly about her thoughts on her season without her chaperone present?”

Amelia lightened at the idea and sat up straighter.

“You want to...”

“Fear not, madam,” Howard deftly explained, “Megan and I will be happy to take good care of Miss Amelia while she is here. Have no care for her well being for it is I who will take the burden.” He did not give her time to muddle through his words before he held out his hand toward the little Omega, delighting when Amelia put her fingers upon his.

When they were safely down the front steps and upon the gravel pathway toward the ornate gardens, Amelia was still grinning with her hand curled around her uncle's arm.

“Megan...she is your wife?”

“Indeed she is,” Howard smiled. “She is currently in town picking up some things. She had hoped that she would be back in time for your arrival but I will have to make due with my own wits for now. Your mother is...ah...”

“Overbearing?” Amelia supplied. “It must come as no surprise to you that her persnickety manner has put off several gentlemen. Though...Howard...” she said it, unsure of herself. She continued at his nod, “I must say that I am in no way fond of the season in London and I have no desire to be mated.”

He snickered. “Is that not how you all are? I was of the mind that there was no Omega in England who wished for a mate. It seemed to me that it was the Beta girls who were constantly wishing for marriage.” His tone softened and there was laughter in his voice. “If it were not for an Omega's unfortunate instincts, I swear you all could go your whole lives without once even considering the prospect.”

She sighed through her nose. “Careful for your tongue, uncle, mother finds talk of anything Omega to be particularly distasteful. Especially chatter about my _instincts._ ”

He laughed while they wandered under a swag of some flower she couldn't place. “The poor woman. You have found yourself with the misfortune of having been born into a family of naught but Betas. Your mother, nor I, could possibly know anything about you or what you could want or need. To assume such is to be ignorant of our limitations. I know what she wants of me.” His eyes sparkled. “She wants me to dower you. Are you not residing with your cousin, Ormsby? Is he not providing for you?”

She was still smiling. “I asked him not to.”

“You dastardly girl,” he chuckled. “You will put your mother into fits.”

“They are of her own creation. Nathan, my cousin, has been very willing to allow us to stay with him if only for my companionship. I am perfectly provided for. Do not let her fool you into believing that we are a step away from poverty.”

“And Ormsby? He will not marry you? He does not have a mate, surely.”

She giggled. “He does not find my...my _scent_ appealing.”

“Ah. He is a closer cousin then,” he nodded. “I see. You have this all figured out. Of course, most Omegas think that they have this all figured out.” He tilted his head alternately from left to right for a few moments before he came to a conclusion. “I shall give you some advice, little one, before I tell you what I've decided. That is, you should not allow for any plots against you. Keep your wits, and your sharp eye. My decision is that I _will_ dower you.” He cocked a brow at her sudden wilting scent and her vanished smile.

“Uncle...”

“I have no children, Miss Amelia,” he smiled. “My brother only managed to have one. I have no one to dote upon and my wealth rots in my coffers. I will spoil you, girl, make no mistake. I have not harmed you, little miss. Who knows? You may, as yet, change your mind. There is no shame in it and if a suitable Alpha were to come along and steal your heart, you shall have lost nothing..”

She nodded and gave a sigh. “I am grateful for your gift. Please do not think that I am a thankless beneficiary. It is simply that I will be pursued in earnest by those...those predators. If I am compromised through no fault of my own or...”

He stopped walking and turned her to face him, taking both of her hands in his own. “Then come to New York. Forget all of England. Have an adventure, Miss Amelia.”

“Oh, now you _surely_ should watch for your tongue, Howard.” She laughed. “My mother is of the firm belief that no young lady should ever be tempted into something so deviant as an _adventure._ ”

“Mere jealousy,” he whispered in good humor, reminding her ever more of her father.

They strode about for a while before she was shown to her room by a servant and was helped to changed into another gown for dinner which they would be having with two couples that were well-known by their hosts.

She was, naturally, the center of attention, and although she basked in it as much as she could, she was constantly annoyed by her mother's interjections.

Mrs. Bailey complimented her from across the table, the woman's smile infectious and warm. “Your hair, dear. It is so beautiful in its color. I could have simply died to have hair like that, especially when I was looking for a mate.”

“Oh yes,” her mother blurted, leaning over her soup, “Her hair is the most perfect color. If any of the gentlemen were so interested in hair, they would have to be blind not to see its richness.”

It was all she could do not to strangle the woman and she was sure that there was a sting in her scent that betrayed the fact. Something her mother probably could not pick up with her dulled sense. Perhaps she could and she simply did not care.

“Her beauty is truly beyond compare,” her mother blathered, oblivious to the stale silence that surrounded her awkward statements. “It is a mystery to me and to most others why she has had such a time of it during the season. Dreadful pickings, you know. Perhaps their tastes are for the shorter girls, as Amelia is perhaps a small bit taller than most of them. A few inches should not make such a different though, surely. She is nowhere near the height of some of the Beta debutantes...perhaps the shorter ones...”

She gritted her teeth and pressed her tongue down against the lower set, willing herself not to embarrass herself further than what her mother had already accomplished. Telling her fool mother to shut her damnable trap would have probably been enough to entertain at least but from an Omega, it was enough to probably make sure Howard never introduced her to a soul again in her life.

“A darling, she is.” The words grated against her ears. “Just _darling_. And the Alphas were quite unfair to her...”

She stood up suddenly, shocking both the table and herself. For a second or two, no one moved, simply staring at her.

Her mother's tone was sharp. “Amelia? What are you—”

“I apologize, everyone,” she gave them all a tight, forced smile. “But it seems I have found I cannot sit any longer. I bid you all to continue with the meal, I must take a short walk about the garden.” Without any further explanation, she hurried from the room toward the front hall, ignoring her mother's shrill call for her. She did not wait for the butler to fetch her shawl and opened the front door, flinging herself into the fading twilight as she careened down the steps.

She could not simply wander in the garden, she thought. They would find her and she did not want that. She wanted to be alone and that seemed to be something that her mother could not abide for any reason. She tapped over paving stones to the cobble of the street and turned around to face the house before she looked one way and then the other and fled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omega/Omega fiction isn't the easiest thing to find, I've noticed. Take care the tags. This is going to be a wild journey in more ways than one.


	2. Chapter 2

The fight hadn't been fair from the beginning. Now, he was almost blinded, hissing against the pain of the dirt thrown in his eyes and overcome with a hot rage that came from having too many blows make their mark. Adrenaline rushing, he used his small size to his advantage and ducked down when he heard the whooshing of air come from a wild swing to his left. Without thinking too hard about it, he dove forward and sprung up, the top of his head colliding heavily with the underside of the other Omega's chin. The clack of teeth together and the sharp yelp of surprise was enough for Hugh. He pushed out blindly with open hands, shoving his opponent hard backwards and wiping at his eyes while the bigger boxer struggled to get up, blood seeping from between his lips, caught in a cupped hand. Hugh grinned while he watched inadvertent tears well up in his opponent's eyes.

He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes again, the sting from the dirt that had been thrown in them nothing compared to the satisfaction he felt at severing or at least severely injuring the devil's tongue. The goose egg on his head was likely going to be worth it. The shiner that was slowly swelling the delicate flesh under his eye, though, that required more retribution.

Once the other boxer was on his feet again, Hugh wasted no time, taunting him toward the center of the ring and circling him while he spat blood into the rushes. He waited until he'd dodged another introductory jab before he set loose a flurry of his own, avoiding every block and getting in close before he was positioned just right. He hooked his foot behind the other Omega's and pushed hard with his opposite hand, tipping him sideways without much effort and sending him to the floor yet again.

Shouting filled his ears and the hard Alpha tone of his manager, Hawk was discernible through them all.

“ _Quit fooling around, you bricky idiot! Put him out!_ ”

Tempted to disobey simply for knowing that he could, he decided, at the last, to acquiesce. The fight was over in a matter of minutes, his opponent left in the middle of the ring, bleeding and unconscious. Hugh turned around, whipping his head toward Miss Hawk who was giving him a narrow-eyed stare while the book boys distributed the winnings among the crowd. He lazily dragged his heels when he sauntered toward her and leaned on the wooden wall that separated them.

“I'm going to regret this, aren't I?” she said. She was young, just learning the business. Her father had given her one of his boxers to manage while she felt out the tricks and figured out how to float by herself. She had insisted on having a winner and despite all her father's arguments, would not let him be until he had let her have Hugh. He knew it because there was nothing Hugh didn't know. He listened at every doorway. He was steathily present in every room. He could get any man to talk.

He lifted himself up, balancing his weight on his arms on the wooden barrier and raised his brows at her, his smile cheeky. “I'm sure I don't know what ye mean, lass.”

“Father said you were difficult in fights. Is this what he meant?”

“Fuck yourself, Miss Hawk. That's what he meant.” Slinging himself over the wall, he brushed past her, his dirty shoulder leaving a streak of dirt and blood on the white sleeve of her shirt. The largest thing of it was that she would get paid and it didn't matter how it happened. At least, that's how it should have been. Her father had long since given up on trying to dominate his Omega boxers and had left them to their own devices as long as they were in his gym by nine in the morning for training. Hugh was still getting the lass used to working with surly beasts and he had, so far, refused to comply with her orders, striding in around ten to eleven if he so felt like it. Miss Hawk, as proud an Alpha as her father, had not yet figured out how to finagle her way into his good graces and was too stubborn to ask her old man for help. She already knew he was difficult but when the blood was pumping and there was a fight on the line—that's when Hugh was probably at the worst of it.

“Listen, _Omega_ ,” she spat as she turned and followed him through the crowd, “I took a risk with you and we could be great together.”

He turned around after grabbing a clean towel from a boy standing beside the door to his changing room. He wiped his face and neck before he tilted his head at her and replied, “Oh? We could be great? Together? Isn't that a hell of a statement. I won. You'll get your money and I'll get mine. You begged your father to let you have me and this is what ye've got. If you don't like it, trade me for another one and tell your father I hurt your fragile Alpha ego.”

“Do you have to be such an ass all the time?”

“Would ye prefer I get down on all fours and present meself in the ring? Take a good cock right in me cul?”

She mouthed the French word in befuddlement.

“Me _cul_ , you bleedin' fuck,” he growled, shoving the soiled towel into her hands. “Good god, I can't stand all o' ye.” With that, he turned around and wandered into the room where a boy had kept all his clothes. He didn't let the kid help him dress, tugging on his shirt and leaving it unbuttoned at the top but tucked into his trousers. His boots had been shined and he narrowed his eyes at the boy who'd done it before he flicked him a coin begrudgingly and slapped his flatcap on his head. He let out a light growl at the kid before he left, ducking the waiting Alpha manager and pushing his way outside.

“Hugh,” Hawk started.

“Shut your whore of a mouth,” he grumbled while he accepted a cigarette from one of the other boxers outside. He spoke around the thing while he smoked. “I'm not coming in tomorrow and I'll tell Bazaretti to have ye tossed out on your ear if you come looking for me. Hamlin might have let your father in, but the Italian is good to me.” He'd had a private suite at the Muir Grand Hotel bought and paid for ever since he'd been Cyril Muir's favorite lover and though the feisty little stallion had run off to England and married, he had still assured Hugh that his situation had not changed. It kept him from the tenements and it kept him from the streets. It also kept his managers at bay.

The tall Alpha loomed over him and put her finger to his chest. “One of these days, I'm going to put you right where you belong, Omega. At my _feet_.”

He slapped her hand away and stood on his toes and still had to look up to stare her in the eye. “Do that and ye'll never get another willing to make your blood money for ye. Fuck right off, Alpha, and don't let me see hide or hair of ye until ye've got it through that I'm not your bitch and ye don't put yer goddamned finger in my face.”

“Alright, Omega,” she fumed, her strong Alpha scent suddenly hot with her frustration. She began rolling up her sleeves and the boxers around him tightened in their circle, easing around him as a flustered pack ready to defend him to the death. Alphas and Betas who had been milling about on the fringes seemed to catch wind of the distressed Omega scents and a few large gentlemen fought their way in through some of the cracks in the boxers.

“Whoa, Alpha,” came a strong, soothing tone that Hugh recognized. His name was Carmon and he was a bookie with a normally hard demeanor and perhaps one of the more subversive of natures. Every bookie had a black soul in Hugh's eyes and Carmon was no exception. The bookie placed a soft hand on Hawk's shoulder and eased her back, even as she kept her hot glare focused on Hugh.

“Alright,” Hawk said, standing straight and shrugging off Carmon's loose grip. “Alright. I'm alright...” She shot Hugh one last threatening glance before she left, the Omegas about him giving him soft rubs on his arms and shoulders, some on his neck to soothe him, their pack instinctively avoiding the Alphas that had infiltrated the scene to keep Hawk from putting him down.

“Alright Hugh?” Carmon asked, his voice emotionless.

“What the devil do you care, ye ugly pisser? Let 'er hit me next time and make sure to get yer bets in afore she does.”

The bookie snickered before he shook his head and turned off, leaving him to his comfort in the other boxers.

He let the lot of them rub him and told them all that he was fine when they murmured their common question, many of them expressing it only out of the need to feel reassured for themselves. A danger to one of them was a danger to all of them. After he was certain that he was in no more danger and the pack had loosened around him, he broke apart from them, taking a cigarette for the road while he wandered off down the streets, reeking of blood, sweat, and about a dozen different Omegas. The first thing he thought he was going to do when he got to Molly's was order the hottest bath they could possibly give him. Then he was going to stuff a fist full of cash into Miss Jolene's garter to get her upstairs with him so she could join him.

He took a hard drag off his cigarette and held it between his thumb and forefinger as he let the smoke trail out of his mouth. As he walked, he shoved his other hand in his pocket and let his eyes shift from left to right. His scent was nothing short of alarming for most, the stench of blood and stress the mark of every boxer that wandered home, their fists still itching for a fight and their senses hyper aware of any trouble in the wind.

Hugh put the cigarette back on his lip and turned up an alley that was usually a convenient short cut to the better part of town where one could find Molly's. There was a group of three tall, lanky Betas crowded about some poor soul who'd probably wandered a bit too far from the main thoroughfares. It was easy to do. First you're wandering down a fine street with plenty of carriages and people about and then suddenly, you're alone and it's dark, and there's a dangerous scent in the air. Downwind, Hugh moved quietly, eager to go unnoticed by the set of three who seemed fairly engrossed with playing with their target.

 _Poor bloke,_ Hugh thought, tip-toing his way over some discarded sardine cans.

One of the Betas spoke in a low and threatening tone. “How you expect us to believe this, Omega? You're in finery like this and you're walkin' about without any money? You're selling us a dog, child. One of Miss Molly's, are you? She won't mind if we have a taste. We're no Alphas after all.”

Hugh gave pause, his heart suddenly aflame. He wasn't about to let these dogs get their grubby fingers all over one of Miss Molly's toffers. He turned his head and glared at the backs of their heads, shocked when he heard a distinctly distressed feminine voice chime up, high pitched from fear.

“I assure you, gentlemen, I do not know a Miss Molly and I am in no way trying to...to sell you a dog. Please. I simply left a dinner party and I am not familiar with New York...”

Another of the Betas spoke. “Let us show you around, pretty thing. You're a pale little English girl, I see. We get it. You just needed to find us to help you see the sights, is that all? We'd be delighted.”

A small yelp came from the group and Hugh could no longer watch them harass the little miss.

“Can't ye all just mind your own?” he blurted, drawing their attention while he stood opposite them in the dark alley, the tip of his cigarette burning orange in the night. He let it dangle from his lip while they turned to face him.

“What's it to you, Omega?” the middle Beta asked, leaning a bit to his right, cock-sure and weak because of it.

“She's my gal, she is. Touch her and yer itchin for a fight.”

“A fight?” one of them laughed. “You've got to be a mad little thing. You're smaller than she is, boy.”

He smiled and gave a small huff of amusement through his nose before he took his cigarette and flicked it away, stuffing both his hands in his pockets. “I am a mad little thing and I'll get absolutely barking if ye don't leave my gal alone.”

“She's not your girl, you drunk bastard. Get lost.”

Hugh watched one of them pull a coin from his pocket and toss it. He let it hit him and ping against the ground.

“Go get yourself some whiskey, Mick.”

He waited until they turned around again and was surprised to hear that very female voice get a bit harder around the edges.

“Gentlemen,” she snapped, “I believe you were told off. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an _engagement_ to hold to.” Two of the Beta's were knocked off balance by her when she purposefully shouldered them apart, taking them off guard as she stumbled forward from between them, artfully whirling about and keeping her poise while she teetered backwards next to Hugh. She _was_ taller than he was by a few inches and though she smelled frazzled and fearful, her shoulders were squared and she was _clearly_ not one of Miss Molly's girls. “I believe my...” She looked at him, her wide eyes taking in his rough appearance with open shock. “My...” She couldn't seem to find a word for him.

In any other circumstance, he would have found her floundering much too entertaining. Here, he was left little time to truly enjoy it. The middle Beta took a step forward and Hugh instinctively put his hand out to push the other Omega backward. Her back hit the wall as he moved forward and brought his hands up, fisted.

“You're going to fight me, little thing?” the Beta laughed.

“I am.”

“Over a girl? An Omega? As if you have any right to her.”

“And you do?”

He scoffed and put up his hands lazily, setting his feet as if it were a chore. He would be no challenge at all to fell but the fact remained that Hugh was still out-numbered by two. The flanking Betas made no moves, the one on the right taking at least two steps back, most likely having been able to scent the fight in him. He had no fear and not even an ounce of trepidation. It could be unnerving for any naïve opponent to square up with a true boxer.

“I hope ye know wot yer doing here, Beta,” he taunted with a crooked grin.

Without answering, the Beta swung, the move slow and wild.

Hugh put him out with three hits, sending him stumbling sideways into a pile of refuse. The Beta to the left had come at him but he'd been prepared and ducked, slamming his shoulder straight into the approaching man's knees and standing as he toppled over the other side of him. Keeping him on the ground, Hugh dove atop him and slammed his head down onto the dirt of the alley just once. It wasn't enough to render him unconscious but it was enough to disorient him. He stood and tapped backwards, his eyes trained on the only Beta still standing.

“Ye want me, Beta?” he teased, flicking his fingers in a come-hither motion to show he was ready and itching for another go. “I'll show ye a good time.”

“I'm alright,” was the meek reply. “Hopping mad, you are.”

He brushed his palms together and straightened, turning to look at the pale young woman standing beside him. “Right then.” He put his arm out and she drew up, her hand shaking just slightly when she put her fingers on his sleeve and let him pull her out of the alley. “Brave miss, ye have to be to venture out late in a city like this. Easy to get lost. Where to, miss?”

She was trembling, the scent of her anxiety sour in his nose. “Ex...Excuse me?”

“I asked ye where to? I don't know where ye live and I am assuming I am to deliver you there to your own warm hearth safe and sound.” He tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I'm not as much an ignorant pumpkin and I'm certain you're not some tail can be found at Molly's.”

“I'm...I'm sorry, Mister...”

“Just Hugh.”

“Mr. Hugh...”

He chuckled. “No, no, gal. Hugh. Just Hugh.”

Her expression was screwed up with both nervousness and confusion. “Hugh...I...I'm sorry. Who is this Molly?”

Laughing, he explained. “Molly's a madam. She runs a brothel. A very popular brothel among Betas and Omegas.” He leaned toward her and grinned. “Her lasses are well-mannered but they can't hold a candle to a well-bred woman such as yourself, Miss...?”

“Watson...” she breathed, her brows puckering in the center. “Miss Amelia Watson. Thank you for...for your bravery, Hugh. I am so grateful for it. I admit that it was stupid of me to have gone out so late, it is just that I did not want to be where I was and...”

“And?”

“And I cannot say I wish to return, though I suppose I must.”

He felt his grin fall at one side while he studied her in the dim light of the gas lamps. She had rich, shining hair that was pulled back into a stylish chignon and her brows were neatly arched over pensive eyes and a lightly freckled kitten nose. Her pink lips were tight together but even so he could tell that they were full and plush and probably the most delicious of lips in all of New York. Her grace and poise and absolutely impeccable speech left him wondering at her unmistakable breeding. She was of the haut ton and she was holding his arm as if he were a gentleman with any right to have even spoken to her in the first. He had but one option. To preserve her reputation, he had to deliver her post-haste to her chaperone and leave well-enough alone. It was her beauty that destroyed him.

“Have ye ever played whist, Miss Watson?”

“Well...yes, I have.”

“And have ye ever met a prostitute?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back. Here we see Hugh being.........Hugh.


	3. Chapter 3

He smelled like a thousand different things, the muddled nature of his scent confusing her and sending her into something of a nervous state. There were so many different smells all over him but only one truly stood out and it was disquieting in its insidiousness. The tangy iron of blood clung to him and it was really no wonder. In the soft light from the lamps that lined the streets, she saw that he was dirty and unkempt. There were smudges of dark brownish red over the soft flesh of his neck and she was nearly certain that the blood on him wasn't his. He'd been in more than one fight tonight, she thought, as she noticed the swelling and discoloration under his eye that had not come from his altercation with the Betas. She tried to keep her eyes from locking onto him while they walked. It was not polite to stare but how could she help herself? He wasn't even properly dressed.

When Hugh—just Hugh—led her up a set of stone stairs to a fairly innocuous house on a quiet street, she was embarrassed to note that she really _was_ lost, having been so distracted by him that she had lost track of each of their turns. He swung one of the heavy wooden doors open and led her inside, the front hall dim but warm and Amelia sighed with comfort. In her adrenaline, she hadn't realized how cold she had become from the night air and the fire that blazed in a nearby parlor beckoned her to stand nearer.

She whispered, rubbing at her arms. “Is this a brothel? This is not what I expected.”

He chuckled and led her into the parlor, the two of them startling a sweet-scented Omega who looked up from his novel when they walked in. He was dressed in nothing but a loose dressing gown and he was young, perhaps seventeen, curled on one of the ornate couches and obviously cozy where he sat.

“Hugh,” he chirped. “How was your fight? I hope you haven't damaged Maddie too badly, he promised me he would come 'round.”

He grimaced and scratched the back of his head while he gave Amelia a comical glance. She almost couldn't stifle her smile. “I wouldn't wait up for him, boy. If that's what you were doing. 'E might not wake up 'til the morrow.”

“Ah,” the boy breathed. “I suppose I'll have to settle for finishing my book then.”

Hugh turned to her and in the firelight he smiled and she was nearly undone by him. Her heart fluttered hard in her chest and it was not just the fire that warmed her. It was as though she was being warmed from the inside out. Her eyes drew along a long, dark scar that ran under his eyes, cutting over his once-broken nose and she held her breath at the thought of him being so hurt. His smile was lopsided and she felt a tug against her heart when she noted that it was was caused by his lower jaw's setting that was just ever so _slightly_ off-center. For all of this, she thought him frightfully handsome.

“Do ye find yourself shocked at all yet, Miss Watson? I hope your sensibilities 'aven't been sent into a tizzy. Do ye feel warm?”

She vaguely recognized that he was asking her if she was about to fall into a stress heat and she shook her head lightly back and forth. She didn't think so. Sometimes it was difficult to tell if such a thing was about to occur and even a normal heat had a tendency to sneak up and take one by surprise. It all _was_ quite shocking, she thought, but she had dealt with worse from the Alphas of the ton in crowded parlors when they all ganged up and teased her openly. They were subtle but mean and she had hated it even more than she had hated it when Kentworth had blatantly stated that she should have made a fine living pleasuring women as a whore.

“Are ye alright, Miss?” Hugh asked. “You're sure you aren't feeling warm? Mayhap we get a room and a few gals to play with us.”

She drew back but made no comments, finding herself uncharacteristically quiet while she followed him. He led her down a small hallway and stopped to tap his fingers over the outside of the door in a gentle cadence as if he were bored until the door swung open and a spicy pleasant Alpha aroma wafted to Amelia's nose.

“What is it, Hugh? Your fight go well? Do you need a poultice for your eye?” The low feminine depth put a tingle into Amelia's spine and when the tall, well-gowned Alpha madam came into the door frame, Amelia immediately dipped a polite curtsy out of habit, lowering her eyes to the floor. “Oh. Gracious, Hugh, what have you brought me?”

“Molly, this is Miss Amelia Watson. Miss Watson, this is Miss Molly Mitchell.” He turned his attention to the Alpha. “Are Miss Jolene and Miss Jodie available tonight, Molly? Miss Watson's had a bit of a shock and doesn't wish to return home. I thought I might distract her with a game of whist.”

Miss Mitchell laughed, the sound deep and pleasant and it put goosebumps over Amelia's arms. “Whist? Lord, I'm dreaming. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Watson. Forgive Hugh, he means well, I assure you. How you came into his acquaintance, I should not ask and I think I shall not. You are welcome to Miss Jolene and I will send up a bath and a screen so that Hugh may not offend you overly when I force him to scrub himself clean.” She smiled warmly and tilted her head, one reddish auburn curl tilting near her ear and shining in the light from a nearby oil lamp. “Miss Jodie will be up shortly and you may have your game if that is what you wish. If you are to need anything else for your nerves, Miss Watson, like a cosh over Hugh's head, all you must do is ask.”

She hoped her voice didn't shake too much when she replied. “Thank you, Miss Mitchell.”

“Molly.”

She kept her face as passive as possible. “M-Molly.”

The room that Hugh led her to was not overly large but was still quite impressive with a neutral sort of décor that was neither overly masculine or feminine and consisted mostly of a mix of pale tans and deep sanguine. Miss Jolene was a short and curvaceous blonde with hair that cascaded over her shoulders and when she sat on the edge of the large four poster bed, it fell in beautiful tendrils over her breasts and thighs, terrifically long and well-brushed. She wore stockings, garters and a garter belt, and not much else under her impossibly short dressing gown that barely covered her to the middle of her thighs. The expensive and luxurious silk was decorated on the back with a large bit of embroidery—roses with what looked to be vicious red thorns. Amelia wondered, nervously, if the art was a reminder of the nature of Miss Jolene herself.

Amelia cautiously gave the blonde a deep curtsy. “Miss Amelia Watson.”

Miss Jolene slid off the end of the bed and flicked her long hair back over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she took a few steps forward. “Miss Jolene Quillian,” she replied, her heavy-lidded eyes studying Amelia with a veiled and wary judgment. She was painfully aware of the stark differences between the two of them and in normal circumstances, Amelia should have been offended at Miss Jolene's presence in the same room as she. As it was, Amelia was the interloper and she did not feel offended in the slightest, merely filled with an almost wanton curiosity. She found that she _wanted_ to know Miss Jolene.

“I understand,” Amelia said with a tentative smile, “That you are a formidable opponent at whist. Hugh has assured me that you and Miss Jodie make a fine pair.”

“Did he?” The prostitute's immediate defenses sagged under the unexpected compliment and her scent softened into a delicate floral aroma that was distinctly pleasing. “Well, he should know. I think we are fairly well-matched.”

Amelia got the distinct impression that the woman was not necessarily still referring to whist and almost felt the absurd need to giggle. She suppressed it easily and turned to find that a bath had been brought and the Omegas who carried it set it and the screen across from the bed. Another lovely woman, this time with furiously red hair padded into the room on her toes in her stockinged feet, her dressing gown a deep blue that complemented the bright, ferocity of her hair well.

Her voice was lilting and ephemeral and she passed her sharp green eyes over Amelia only fleetingly, turning to Hugh. “I've been instructed to tell you that if you do not get into this bath once it is filled immediately, Miss Molly is going to take you down to the docks and dump you straight into the water and let you drown.” She gave pause and glance at Amelia again. “She says you've done horribly by the...the Lady...by letting her smell you in such a state.”

“Hardly any choice,” he replied candidly, still grinning. “Terrible thoughtful to have brought a screen. I didn't know ye had one. Sporting though, for some, I suppose.” The bath was filled with steaming hot water and Hugh removed his shirt deftly, pulling it from his trousers and handing it off to a waiting boy who would likely wash his clothes for him. Another boy had brought him a fresh set and she wondered to whom they belonged. Perhaps one of the male Omegas, she thought, fascinated. She was hideously distracted and felt her cheeks flame when she was caught by Miss Jolene staring at Hugh's bared torso and specifically the place where the flat of his stomach disappeared into his trousers. She fiddled with her gloved hands, turning her attention to them while she tried to ignore the rustle of Hugh's clothes while he moved to the other side of the screen and shed the rest of them. His male groan at the warmth of the water when he sank into it made her bite her lip for that insistent tug to her guts.

“He's a handsome man,” Miss Jolene purred. “Is he not, Miss Watson?”

“Hugh?” she squeaked.

The whore giggled.

Hugh's voice floated from behind the screen. “Don't ye tease her, Jo. I'll not have it.”

Miss Jolene smirked at her in an almost confusingly commiserating fashion. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Watson. Jodie and I are no slaves to propriety. We may speak well but we're no debutantes. Perhaps while Hugh soaks, you should like your hair brushed out? I am skilled with hair if you are not offended by my asking?”

She felt her stomach flutter at the suggestion. Her coiffure was perhaps a little worse for wear after the day's activities and it would be such a small thing to have her hair brushed, would it not? She parted her lips, uncertain. “P-Perhaps that would be...pleasant. Thank you, Miss Quillian.” She moved to the chair before the woman's vanity and sat straight-backed while the floral-scented Omega delicately removed the pins in her hair, letting pieces of it tumble over her shoulders. She gently ran her fingers through each section as it was let down and when it was all free and waving, she gently raked her nails from Amelia's hairline backwards, drawing out a shocking sigh from the debutante's throat.

“I'll bet that feels much better, doesn't it, Miss Watson?”

“Oh yes,” she sighed, having to bite her lip to keep from moaning when Miss Jolene began brushing steadily, her movements slow and each pass of the brush after the tangles were gone feeling like they held a hidden sensuality, especially those that curved upwards around her nape before passing through the delicate hair that fell underneath the weight of the rest of it. She heard a soft feminine moan and opened her eyes only to realize that it had been she who had made the sound.

Hugh's voice sounded terribly amused from the other side of the screen. “Oy! Jolene! I can't be havin' ye stealin' my gal. I just got me grubby mitts on her and ye already have her moanin' in yer hands. I've got no chance.”

Jodie, inspecting her nails, replied lazily from where she leaned near the door. “Do you need someone to scrub your back for you, Hugh? Maybe a little...lower?” She gave a cat-like grin to both Amelia and Miss Jolene and though Amelia's cheeks flushed, she couldn't help but snicker lightly. Though debutantes were not known for their candidness, she had never been one to shy from flirtation. Especially with the other Omegas. It should have been horribly hypocritical of her to condemn such overtures from these ladies. By all respects, they seemed like a lot of _fun._

“I don't need no scrubbin'! If ye tried to get all the dirt off o' me, you'd rub me right down to my bones.”

“Made of dirt,” Jolene mused, looking Amelia in the eyes through the mirror. “Nothing like us. Some of these men are just so _unnatural_ , aren't they, Miss Watson? Not pretty like we are.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “Nothing like us.” It felt somehow empowering to say it, as if she and Jolene were somehow on the same level. Cut from the same cloth. But she felt her brows pinch in the middle for a moment when she remembered that they were _not_ , after all.

She heard the bath water shift and splash and heard the rustle of the thick and fluffy towel that dried off the quite naked Hugh that was just on the other side of the screen. She swallowed, barely feeling the brush as it coursed through her hair again and again. She had never actually been in the same room with a nude man before and despite that he was behind a screen, the knowledge that every inch of him was bared so closed to her put shivers through her whole body.

Miss Jolene dipped her lips down close to Amelia's ear, her floral scent spiced with something dangerously familiar. She whispered playfully teasing.

“ _Dirty as they are, they are terribly amusing._ ”

This time, she could not stifle her absurd little giggle. “Sorry,” she blurted. “I...I do not...I do not _know_ him.”

“What's this?” Hugh asked as he finished buttoning his trousers while he came around the screen. “Secrets? I bring a highborn woman into your room and immediately there's a plot against me, isn't there?” His face spread into a wolfish grin and he passed a wink to the both of them. “And Lord,” he breathed, “Do you look pretty with yer hair all down your back, Miss Watson.”

Miss Jolene scoffed and quickly began to braid, pulling it up into a braided chignon and pinning it into place so quickly that Amelia was stunned. Perhaps the woman had once made her living as a ladies maid. “Don't be crude, Hugh. Sit down. If Miss Watson would prefer, I will be her partner so as she doesn't have to grapple with _you_.”

“Oh no,” he chuckled, “I'll not lose her so fast. I didn't rescue the little miss from ruffians to have 'er stolen from me by a toffer, no matter how pretty ye are, Miss Jo.”

He shuffled in bare feet and hopped himself up on the large bed while Jodi followed with cards in her hands. Hugh and the ladybirds sat with their legs to the side, curled in their positions on the bed while Amelia, who had never before played cards in such a strange fashion, awkwardly perched herself on the edge of the mattress, turned so that she could play properly. As it turned out, Hugh was a marvelous player, his eyes and wits moving much faster than Amelia had expected and of course, he devilishly cracked a grin each time he took a trick.

A few rounds later, Jolene flopped back on the bed and yawned, her hair splaying out in shining rivulets of gold. “Mmm,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “About now, I should be dozing in someone's arms and here you have me playing whist.”

Jodie shrugged and tied her mane of red back with a ribbon, smiling amicably at Amelia. “I do not mind. It is always nice to have company. Molly said that you'd had a shock, Miss Watson. Has this helped at all with your nerves?”

She felt her chest constrict. “Oh yes. I must thank you all for your hospitality and your graciousness. I should never have even thought of it if Hugh hadn't suggested it. I suppose sometimes that I am a bit too fragile.”

“We are all a bit too fragile,” Jolene giggled. “Once I ended up in heat after Aaron borrowed a set of my unmentionables and got them _dirty_. I was absolutely beside myself and was abed all the next day.”

Hugh laughed. “I remember that.”

“You must!” she cried. “I was so terribly mad, I would not let a soul near me. Not even you! Do not fret, Miss Watson, all of us are so horribly fragile. I will never know how some Omegas can keep themselves composed when they are surrounded by Alphas.” She sat up abruptly. “You are from England, you are a _real_ Lady, aren't you?”

“Oh...no,” she quickly shook her head. “I am only the cousin of a Viscount. I am not the daughter of a Lord. So...I am not a Lady.”

“But you are a debutante, are you not? You are able to go to all those fancy parties.” Her eyes grew wistful and there was an odd dreamy quality in her smile. “Oh...it must be so beautiful in the ballrooms with all the beautiful people. I've heard it's so lovely...”

Amelia's smile was small and tentative. “I...I suppose it is for some.”

Hugh and Miss Jodie both tilted their heads at the same time while Miss Jolene appeared shocked.

Embarrassment welled up inside her. “I am sorry. I should not be so melancholic about it. It is just that sometimes Alphas are not as nice as we wish they would be. Noble blood does nothing for their temperaments. Oh!” She covered her mouth and her cheeks warmed. “I should not say such things.”

Hugh barked out a laugh. “Jo has been tellin' us about her _unmentionables_ , Miss Watson. Speak freely, gal, and don't let them stop you from it. A strong spine in an Omega is what those damn Alphas need!” His shoulders stiffened suddenly and his brows popped up with his comical grimace of regret. “Oh. Pardon me foul mouth, Miss. Now what say you? Are ye feeling a might better? Well enough to go home?”

She sighed and looked down at her fingers before she clapped her hands together, resigned. “I suppose I should put their worries to rest. I have likely made my mother suffer apoplexy. At least...one can only hope that I have. This has been such a lovely night. I cannot thank you all enough. If I had been told when I departed from Bristol that I should be hosted by the most delightful of...”

“Whores,” Jolene grinned.

“Well,” Amelia smiled, “Omegas, at least. I would have been quite doubtful of the claim. I should not take up any more of your time...”

Hugh slid from the bed and donned his boots and cap, offering her a hand while he gave a light bow to the two ladies still abed. “Off we are, Miss Watson. The address of our destination?” She told it to him and he nodded sagely while he led her to the door and then gave her a slight once-over. Determined that she was not dressed warmly enough, he went to fetch her an expensive ermine-lined cloak, pulling it around her shoulders and looking very pleased with himself when he did so. Their walk was pleasant and she found that she much enjoyed that his legs were not longer than hers, their pace and strides almost evenly matched.

“You are not cold, Hugh?” she asked as he put his hands in his pockets.

“Don't ye fret about me, Miss. I'll have that cloak on the way home.”

“And where is home?” Having him alone lit her curiosity once more. His scent was slowly returning after his bath and she could just barely detect the delicate fragrance through the cool midnight air.

“I uhm...you can find me at the Muir if ye look hard enough.” His crooked smile seemed almost bashful. “This is you, I believe.” He motioned to the paved stones past the wrought iron gate and she was surprised to see her uncle's house before her.

“Oh. I hadn't realized we were so close. Goodness, she certainly must be discreet.” She looked around and then back to Hugh, reluctant to leave him. “Perhaps you would like to come inside?”

“No, no,” he chuckled. “You and I both know I would make your family wonder what in the world ye'd been diving into. A man like me in a parlor like yours? Sipping from your father's whiskey? I'd be flayed on the spot for having touched ye.”

“Nonsense,” she argued. “You rescued me.”

“Oh no, Miss Watson, if ye value your reputation, ye'll tell your da that ye walked along and saw no one but some proper gals. Ye had a nice chat that went a wee bit long and ye made your way home.” He leaned forward and slipped the cloak off her and searched for a pocket, pulling out a small calling card and handing it to her before he pulled the warm ermine over his own shoulders. “That's for a Mrs. Peabody. Ye were taken in by her daughters and ye had a lovely conversation.”

“And if my mother calls upon this Mrs. Peabody to thank her for having allowed me entry and been kind to me?” She knew she sounded incredulous. She could not help it.

“Don't put up a fuss, let her go. She'll find Mrs. Peabody is not taking callers and will get a small missive apologizing for her absence and ye'll get a letter thanking ye for your visit.”

Her mouth opened and she heard a small, ladylike guffaw from her throat. “That is most scandalizing, Hugh. I adore it.”

The fighter winked at her and nipped at her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Have a lovely evening, Miss Watson. Perhaps I'll see you again.” He turned about and she watched him walk back the way they had come while he placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a match.

With the wheels in her mind turning and grinding, Amelia was left with no other option but to walk over the stones and up to the door, easing it open and clicking it shut behind her as quiet as she could. The tall Beta butler came around the corner and she bit her lip, giving him a wide and apologetic glance as he tried valiantly to suppress his frown. Her mother must have thrown an absolute fit to find her missing and she was nearly shocked that the woman hadn't insisted on calling the constables. As much as she had hoped she might sneak to her room and remain unnoticed until breakfast, it was not to be as the butler ushered her into the front parlor where her mother was sitting fretfully on one of the settees and her uncle was sipping a brandy by the hearth.

“You _wretched girl_!” her mother cried out, standing suddenly with her outburst and rushing from the room in a flurry of skirts.

She said nothing, her hands balling at her sides while she turned her gaze to her uncle.

Howard's mouth was flat but his eyes danced in the firelight. “Sherry, my girl?”

“Sherry would be lovely,” she stated demurely, settling herself down in the seat her mother had vacated. She sipped it while Howard stood with her.

“I should have known you'd be able to take care of yourself. Your mother was certain you'd been kidnapped and ravished.”

“If only,” she chuckled, recalling Hugh's warm chocolate eyes and devilish, lopsided grin. “It was terrible of me to have left so abruptly. My behavior must seem so vexing and for that, I am truly sorry. It is very unbecoming of a debutante, I understand.”

“Pish posh,” Howard smiled. “Are you not all known to be fickle creatures? How are you to apologize for nature?”

“It is generous of you to assign my rudeness to something beyond my control but I daresay, I should contain myself better than I have.” She sipped her sherry maybe a little too quickly but if Howard noticed, he did not mention it. When she was finished with the glass, she set it down and stood, knowing that the late hour and the sherry would be forming a drowsiness that she was eager to use to her full advantage. She was not looking forward to any interaction with her mother on the morrow and she would need her strength to bear it. “I believe I shall be heading off to bed. Thank you again for your hospitality and if my aunt is still awake when you retire, would you please apologize for me? I will be sure to do so again come morning but I will rest easier knowing that she has been informed of my regret.”

“Of course, Miss Amelia.” He instructed the butler to show her to her room and she left, a relieved sigh soothing her anxieties.

When she was in her room and finally alone with the warmth from the fire and the glow of the oil lamps, she stripped down to her chemise and stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes drooping in her tiredness. When she had told Cyril Muir during her last season that she could care not for a mate, she had been perfectly serious. When she had kissed him and felt the thrill of danger through his lips, she had determined that her passions were inevitable. Knowing that there were other Omegas who enjoyed each other in the same way that she had fantasized bolstered her thoughts that it would be entirely possible to sate herself without having formally compromised herself. Of course, she thought, the slight and effeminate little Omega that she and Hugh had encountered in the parlor at Miss Molly's was hardly the type of man she was looking for.

But Hugh. Hugh would have done very nicely indeed. With that thought firmly in place, she climbed under the cool covers of the bed and quickly fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a fondness for this story that I'm afraid most readers won't share.
> 
> Little deviant Omegas are totally my jam.


	4. Chapter 4

He was having a bit of a hard time keeping his eyes on the tip of his pencil, the eye that had taken Maddie’s blow swelled a bit underneath with a harsh shade of purple in a half-circle around it. He was tired but he knew that as soon as he was finished with the accounts and his orders, he would be free to drag his sorry ass back up the stairs to his suite where he would gladly strip off every stitch of his clothes and sink into the plush mattress and fluffy counterpane that he had meticulously arranged the night before while he had combed through his errant thoughts.

His propensity to nest even without a coming heat had always caused Cyril great amusement but Hugh was unbothered by it, letting his urges take over.  It was easier than fighting it.  He fought everything else, a little harmless nesting had never caused him any distress.  Of course now, when he knew there was a perfectly good set-up in his bed _right at his moment_ , it was doubly difficult to keep himself focused on the task before him.  He had to make sure that the bar was properly stocked for the coming week and with the orders rising steadily with the warm weather and the constant patrons, his job was coming up on one of the more challenging seasons.  New Yorkers liked to drink.  More than that, they liked to drink _expensively_.

“Hugh!” Tilly shouted in the back room, her voice sharp on his ears while he huddled over his order sheets.  She found him where he was hidden, opening the door to find him perched on an overturned bucket, peering up at her with a forced smile.  “What the devil are you doing in the broom closet?” she asked, quirking her head.  “I can’t find your Gordons!  Where did you put that case we got in last week?”

He sighed and rubbed at his uninjured eye.  “It’s on the lowest shelf, ye’ll have to open the crate if ye need it, I hadn’t bothered.”

“You look like a little worse for wear, don’t yah, little one? Rough night, last?”

“No, it was a bloody riot,” he grumbled, scribbling down a few numbers.

She moved on and he heard her wrench open the crate of gin with her formidable Alpha strength.  The bottles clinked while she got one out to hand off to the barkeep and she was back, blocking out the light he’d been using to write.  “You know, you can do that where you don’t have to hunch down, Hugh.”

“I didn’t wish to be bothered, but if yer goin’ ta do it anyway, I might as well,” he growled, standing up and pushing past her to slap his papers down on one of the counters that was free from stored cases of liquor.  “I’ve only got to get this order in.  I’ve got no deliveries today and there’s no parties or the like so I don’t ‘ave to be here long.  Noon is about my limit afore ye find me back in the broom closet snoozing.”

“Maybe if you didn’t spend so much time pleasing the tail at Molly’s, you’d be better fit to put in your hours.  You’re lucky Bazaretti likes you so much or he’d have a fit at the way you seem to breeze in and out.  We’ve never had a bar manager who was as unpredictable as you are.  But then again,” she frowned, “You do good work.”

He winked at her and cast her a sly grin.  “I do what I can.  When the Italian told me I was going to earn my keep about this place, I was half-tempted to spit in 'is eye.  But it’s me Oma’s brains I got and it’d be a shame to waste 'em.  Aye.  He was a smart man and pretty to boot.  My da never knew how lucky he was.”

“Well I’d know how lucky I was,” Tilly replied, playfully grabbing Hugh’s chin and gently shaking his head in a friendly gesture.  “Get your order in and get to bed.  I’m surprised you’re even here so early, doesn’t that Alpha have something to say about it?”

“Damn that Alpha,” he stated calmly, filling in a few more lines on his sheet.  “If ye see her here…”

Tilly’s scent spiced with warning.  “If I see any of those bastards, I swear to God, Hugh, I’ll be putting them straight into the ground.  This is a—”

“Legitimate business establishment,” he finished for her, rolling his eyes.  “I’m grateful ye think I’m worth protecting, Tilly, but don’t start to think I cannot fight for myself sometimes. If ye see her here, be certain to tell her she’ll see me tomorrow’s morn before ye put her in the ground.”  He didn’t have any doubt that the frighteningly built Tilly would be able to put any Alpha six feet into the dirt.  Miss Hawk looked nearly waifish next to Tilly’s massive frame and there was really no competition over who was probably stronger.  Hugh had seen the woman lift massive wrought iron stoves without even the slightest of grunts.  If she would have liked, she could probably tear Hawk’s arms from her body without a pause.

“Alright, little one.”

He shiffed the paper up and gave it a good once-over before he decided it was finished and he felt like he could safely make it upstairs without someone interrupting his journey.  Once he was in his room, he locked the door and kicked off his shoes, gazing at his bed with pure adoration.  Pulling off his clothes, he settled into the nest he’d formed and curled into it, covering himself completely before he snoozed well into the evening.

Tilly was again surprised to see him when he was tying his small bar apron on around supper time.

“Hardly enough sleep, Omega,” she chided him.

“Piss off,” he muttered while he made his way to the bar to help the two barkeeps with the endless amount of glasses that needed to be washed and the sometimes overwhelming orders that spilled in.  He was small and unassuming and scrappy-looking enough that most patrons didn’t ever make the assumption that he was in charge.  He felt mostly invisible even when there were orders barked at him and it suited him well.  Usually, anyway.

He was most of the way through a stack of glasses when a particularly rowdy bunch of Alphas took up a corner of the bar, their loud and boisterous voices booming through the dim room.  He ignored them, allowing the beta barkeeps to take their gruff and loud orders.

“Oh what’s this?” One of them asked and the rest of them quieted.  Hugh sighed, feeling all of their eyes upon him.  Without glancing up he guessed that there were about four of them and they were all overly interested.  “This Omega’s been _hit._ ”

Another of them leaned forward across the bar while their drinks were served, peering at Hugh who still refused to look up at them. There were two ways that Alphas often interpreted an Omega refusing to make eye contact.  One was a slight of etiquette that required punishment.  The other was a natural submission that was worthy of praise.  Fortunately, the latter was the norm.

The second Alpha murmured.  “Looks like one of those _boxers_ you hear about…tell us, Omega, do you fight?  Are you worth betting on?  Perhaps not by the looks of you.”

Hugh did not bother to respond, slowly washing a few more glasses and purposefully ignoring the words that tugged him.  If there was one thing that fighting had done for him, it was that despite his hellfire temper, he could dam it all up if he wished.  There would be not a trace of fear or hurt or anger anywhere in his scent and it would infuriate any Alpha seeking to goad him.

The first Alpha spoke.  “Come on, handsome, we’re just trying to get a better gander at you.  I’ll bet you’re fire between the sheets. You are, aren’t you?  A fighter like you would make a man work for it.  I’ll bet you’d be right at home with more than one of us.”  He lowered his voice while the others chuckled around him.  “I’ll bet you’d beg to get your holes stuffed and your little cock sucked off.”

The second Alpha reached across the bar to grab at him and Hugh deftly stepped out of his reach, turning to place some of the wet glasses to an area better to dry in.  He worked to rearrange them to fit more of the wet ones there, safe from their reaching hands. Bazaretti had explicitly given him permission to toss out any of the patrons who were half-rats and gave him trouble but the matter was normally to be handled quietly and if he had any idea as to their wealth or connections, he was supposed to suggest that they rent a room and politely have one of the bellhops show them up.  He was _not_ supposed to hit anyone.

“Oh don’t be coy, Omega.  All I want you to do is sit on my face.”

Their bawdy laughter pounded into his head and he could feel the beginnings of a mighty headache coming on.

“I’ll push my tongue up right where you’d like it.  We’ll have you squealing like the little pig you are.”

Hugh had finally had enough.  He turned around, his stare level.  “I believe that’s enough o’ that, gentlemen.  If ye don’t have anything that’s suitable conversation for a fine establishment such as the Muir, I will invite you to finish your drinks and make your way either to your rooms or to the street; I care not which but ye are hereby banished from my bar for the time bein’.”

“Oh ho!” the first Alpha hollered, “He finally speaks.  I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere, Paddy, we just got settled right in here.”

“Mayhap ye didn’t hear me quite right.  Sometimes I know I can be hard te understand.”  He gave a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  “But I told ye to finish yer drinks and get the hell out of my bar.”

All four of them fell silent but the first one had not lost his smug little grin, his fingers twirling his tumbler filled with gin and his eyes dangerous.

“We’ll stay,” the Alpha announced.  “And see what the little _Omega_ will do about it.”

Hugh bit the inside of his cheek behind his fake smile, narrowing is eyes at their leader before he turned around on his heel and walked to about the center of the long edge of the bar.  Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he hefted himself atop it, careful not to accidentally disturb any of the glasses near his feet.  He cleared his throat.

“Pardon the interruption,” he started in a loud voice.  “But there will be no more alcohol served tonight.”  He waited for the slight anxiety to well up and for the din of voices expressing ire at his announcement to die down before he gestured to the four Alphas at the corner.  “That is until these four gentlemen have left.”  He then hopped down from the bar top and looked at the two Beta barkeeps.  “Ye heard me.  No booze until the bounders have gone.”

Without another word, he watched the whole room sour on the four Alphas and scented their extreme displeasure at being singled out among a room of patrons.  The second one spoke again, his tone hard.

“What gives you that authority, Omega?  I’d like to speak to the manager of this place and I’d like to do it immediately.”

“Well,” Hugh chuckled, “You’d be in luck.  He’s standin’ right in front o’ ya.”

The four of them were taken aback.

“Ye look so surprised, come to find ye’ve been blatherin’ on about tonguing me arse and here I am, the manager.  I must have looked just as shocked when my boss told me I’d be runnin’ the joint too.    So.” He crossed his arms and popped a hip.  “Off with ye.”

They were gone before Tilly even heard that there had been an issue and for that, Hugh was unendingly grateful.  The rest of the night was predictable and he finally took off his apron and folded it, setting it upon one of the shelves in the storage room with great sigh.  He scented Tilly before he saw her.

“Going to see Miss Jolene again?” she asked absentmindedly while got her things together to leave as well.  If Tilly wasn’t working, Hugh wasn’t sure what she was doing.  It seemed she was always back in the kitchen or in her tiny restaurant office dealing with orders and deliveries.  Her personal life was forever a mystery but she was keen to know Hugh’s business, protective over him to the last.

“I think I might just take a wander tonight,” he admitted. “Mayhap just get myself a few drinks at the Rabbit.”

“Suit yourself.  Make sure you get some sleep tonight.  I’ll be cross if I hear that Alpha’s come to look for you again.  I have told you before, Omega, you should stop all this business with fighting. They’ll run you down into the dirt and it’ll be the end of you one day.”  Her scent warmed.  “You’re a handsome man, Hugh, and a good worker.  It would be a shame to lose you.”  She paused, thinking.  “Not to mention how many Alphas I’d have to kill to avenge you.  I wouldn’t know who’d done it.  I’d have to kill them all.  Wholesale like.”

He burst with laughter, letting it settle in and shake him pleasantly.  “Thank ye for your concern, Tilly.  Fight is in my blood.  I’ll stop when I stop and that’s all I can say about it.” He couldn’t make promises and especially not promises about when he would ever stop fighting.  He supposed that it would take much for him to cease entirely but if he did—would he yearn for more?

He left with his cap on his head and his hands deep in his pockets. To some, it would be considered late and for him and the other boxers, the night was still young.  He supposed that it wouldn’t be hard to catch a fight but the chances of getting away with it without Hawk catching wind were slim.  He almost made to wander off in the direction of the _Rabbit and Pearl_ , an all-Omega exclusive tavern that was set back and somewhat hidden in the backstreets of the city.  It wasn’t unknown by any means, spoken about in certain circles openly enough that even some Alphas knew of its existence, but it was not somewhere that normal denizens of the city frequented. But Hugh didn’t feel much like drinking.  At least not at that moment.

He set off in the other direction, quickly moving through the streets on light feet, dipping through the alleyways and hopping over fences to breeze through lawns before he found himself in front of one _particular_ town house that took his fancy.  If he’d been carrying the pocket watch that Cyril had given him for his birthday one year, he could have seen what time it was but the point became moot when he heard the distant chime of a grandfather clock from inside the house.

_Bong._

He looked one way and then the other before he gripped the wrought iron fence and leaped over it, landing on his feet in the grass before he crept silently to the stone side of the manor.

_Bong._

The house was large, he’d noted that previously, with five windows on the second floor of the face and four windows on the bottom side with the door in the middle.  Two chimneys jutted out from either end and a warm glow was emitted from a window off to the side.

_Bong._

He snuck to the edge of it, peeking cautiously until he found what looked to be a lovely parlor.  A thin middle-aged man who must have been a Beta was sitting with his back to the window, in his hands a small book that had taken all of his attention.  Across from him was an older woman with a pinched expression who seemed to be attempting embroidery but from the way her hands constantly fidgeted, he wasn’t sure she was going to be getting much of it done.

_Bong_.

At the sound of the chime, a tall and kind-looking woman entered the frame of the window, her hair a light mousy brown.  She sat next to the man and touched his sleeve to ask a question but Hugh was no longer interested.  He was looking for a different woman.  These two were most likely Betas.  He was looking for the _Omega_.

_Bong._

He quickly moved to the back of the house where he spied around the corner in search of any servants outside smoking before he moved forward.  Ducking the window that shone into the kitchen, he was very pleased to find a lattice that was being almost overtaken by some climbing specie of flower.  He set to it, elegantly using his light weight and small size to climb the white wooden structure until he found himself peeping again cautiously into another window, this one lit only by the dim glow of—

_Bong._

—a solitary lamp that was situated on the bedside table.  He leaned to see more clearly through the glass to find exactly the woman he was looking for with her legs curled up to her side while she was pouring over a large work, one fingernail delicately perching the middle of her pink bottom lip while her others were gently testing the paper of the page she was about to turn.  He leaned further, enraptured by her soft features in the yellow lamplight and the manner by which she read, her eyes flitting over the pages and at points, her teeth gently raking over her lip in thought.

_Bong._

There was a sharp crack and his heart plummeted as his footing failed him and he pitched to the side, forced to awkwardly send out a rescuing limb to keep him from plunging down into the garden below. The force of his fingers on the stone of the windowsill created a slight but noticeable slapping sound and he could barely think for the pounding of his own pulse and the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

_Bong._

There was a clink and a creaking sound, one side of the window swinging open, just barely missing his fingertips where they held him steady.  He grimaced, his weight oddly balanced between the lattice and the sill while he stared straight into Miss Amelia’s perplexed gaze.  The curiosity in her scent eddied into surprise and she whispered into the warm darkness.

“ _Hugh?  What are you doing?  Are you absolutely mad?_ ”

_Bong._

He tried to grin, adjusting his grip on the sill and glancing down at his feet on the lattice.  He whispered back at her, “ _Barking, luv._ ”

As much as she could try to pretend to be angry at him, he could still see her secret smile that she tried to hide when she glanced over her shoulder before she reached out her hand for him to pull him into her room.

_Bong._

When he tumbled onto the carpet and then stood up, brushing himself off rather proudly, he grinned at her forced frown, that last chime of the clock still ringing in his head.  His voice was low.

“Awful nice house.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, the side of her mouth inching up.

“I just wanted to see about inviting you out.  For a drink, mayhap?  Nice ladies never get to go out for drinks, do they?  I already brought ye to see the whores, I might as well get the rest of the city out o’ the way.  I don’t think ye’ll be seein’ any of the real New York with those lifeless Betas down in the parlor, do you?”

She lifted one perfectly arched brow.  “The _real_ New York?”

“Aye.  The real New York.  Ye ever been to a tavern’s got nothin’ but Omegas?  Not an Alpha in sight.  Nor a Beta.  Just us smalls.”

Her cheeks dusted pink.  “I had not thought such a place existed.”

“O'course they do.”  He took a step toward her and she did not cower but straightened her back as if to challenge him.  Her eyes were a tantalizing stormy gray and her hair, loose from its pins, was rich and full, cascading down her back.  She was in a dressing gown belted at her waist and he could only imagine how pale her flesh was underneath that and the lacy chemise she likely wore beneath.  Her scent was sweet and calm and there was a bravery in her stance that he found to be lacking in most female Omegas.  Still with his voice in a whisper, he posed the challenge he knew she would take.  “So are ye goin’ ta pin up yer hair, lass?  The night is young and all of the city is at yer feet.”

She smirked, her gaze lingering over him for only a moment longer before she turned about and snatched a ribbon from her nightstand to tie up her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a little devil of a sunburn and I'm only half-way through my vacation. I've actually gotten some writing done while I've been here which is just further evidence that I don't know what the word "vacation" means.
> 
> My two darling Omegas are such trouble-makers. I fully expect shenanigans.
> 
> Comments, concerns, etc. are appreciated and encouraged. Thank you all for your previous comments. I'm happy to know that there are people who like this story and these characters as much as I do. I suspect the stats for this one will remain low as a natural effect of their odd pairing. Still. It is going to be a favorite of mine.


	5. Chapter 5

She was in awe of him. How could she help it? He was a force. A hurricane set upon the earth that dared any Alpha to tame him. At least, this was how she saw him. He was scarred and broken and he could not give a care for any kind of danger or authority. When she had heard tales of men who could sweep Omegas off of their feet, she had not thought that such men could come in the form of short Irish boxers. She was caught in some kind of spell that he weaved over her with his warm brown eyes and his sometimes almost incomprehensible lilt.

Amelia followed him when he crept out her window again. She maneuvered her way over the lattice with her skirts and quickly descended, concerned mostly with the way the slight wooden planks of the lattice creaked under her weight. Her worst fear would be to have the thing somehow detach from the side of the house and send them both to an early grave. When she was close to the ground, he unceremoniously gripped her about the waist and set her down while she suppressed a small yelp at the unexpected gesture. Ducking under the windows, he quickly led her to the fence where he hefted himself over it easily.

She whispered urgently. “There is no possible way I am to be able to get myself and my skirts over this fence.”

“Your other option is to stroll out the front gate, little miss. If ye get yourself tipped o'er the top, I'll catch ye on your tumble down.”

She glanced back at the lattice, wondering if it might have been worth it simply to cut her losses and forget about trying to scale the fence. But when she turned back around and saw his handsome face in the moonlight, she told herself off for being such a coward and pulled upon the iron to get her foot up on one of the cross bars. As she was coming over the other side into his arms, there was a slight rending which they caught and remedied before the damned point could take the entire hem off her gown, the hole only large enough for three of her fingers. With that part over with and her heart beating hard in her throat, they tried to remain casual while they walked quickly to the street.

At the end of it, she let loose a giggle, catching his eye and leading him into a short round of laughter. Inside a group of Omegas, laughter was a catching disease and she was grateful for Hugh's answering chuckle as it made her feel more human and more _free_. Betas, though prone to laugh when the moments arose, were not ones to do so for seemingly no reason and were less likely to see humor in a slightly outrageous act or situation and here, she found, Hugh was her kindred spirit. In a family full of Betas, she had been under-served and had not known it truly until she had found the groupings of Omegas in London during the season. When they could all band together, there was less fear. There was less anxiety. There were less _Alphas_.

Their pace slowed while they walked and she boldly touched Hugh's sleeve, inciting him to lift his arm in order to escort her. His scent was warmed by the act and Amelia sucked in her bottom lip, glad that he had not refused her subtle advance. She wondered, openly looking at him, if he might make a fine lover or not. Miss Jolene and Miss Jodi had seemed rather pleased with him but from paid company, could she expect them to tell her the truth?

“Wot is it that runs through your head, Miss Watson?” he asked with an amused side-long grin.

“If one were to ask my mother, she would be sure that they were informed of its permanent residents. A ball of fluff, a few stray feathers from a headdress, perhaps, and a dead mouse or two.” She let out another catching bit of laughter and was further tickled by his eager grin. “I'm wondering how in the world I've been convinced of this venture when I cannot be sure I'll ever make my way back to my window before morning light.”

“Have more faith in me, gal,” he chided. “Lord,” he said, turning his face up to the sky, “have mercy on me. She tries me so.”

She shouldered him as they walked and laughed with him, marveling at his ability to make it seem as if she had known him for years. It was as if they were old friends and if these moments had happened a thousand times before. Her father had a word for such moments. Moments that felt as if they had already been lived and cherished.

Hugh cleared his throat after his chuckled had died away. “This tavern, my dear, is a gem of a place. I promise you, we have the run of it. Orville's hired himself these two Alpha blokes which stand in front the door. Ta make sure none of the tossers who think they'd catch some tail inside think they'll be getting lucky. That's right.” His teeth shined white in the steady light of the gas lamps.

She felt a stray drop of rain and watched as Hugh flinched at a drip upon his nose. “Well,” she breathed, “I hope it's not far?”

“Aye, it's not far, and I think we might 'ave reason to hurry.” He pulled her along as more drops came down around them and gained in size, crashing in larger dollops until she was fairly well soaked, laughing all the way through the steaming cobble streets until he had pulled her between two hulking Alphas and into the warm light of a busy taproom. His voice raised above the din. “Oi! Orville! If ye don't want yer bar te smell like a wet mutt, I'll need a bit o' dry.”

The answering shout forced a giggle from her throat.

“I'm out of all the gin, ye soggy bastard, and it already smells like a bitch in heat, what's the bloody difference?”

There was a roar of laughter along with the tangy sweetness of dozens of Omegas, these scents much less _floral_ than those of the London debutantes. She found them no less appealing for their differences and discovered that she could not stop her probably stupid-looking grin from sticking to her face. A kind-faced gentleman who was also a few inches shorter than she was handed her a fluffy towel and she thanked him while she pressed it to her hair.

With laughter still rumbling around them, Hugh gently led her to an open stool at the bar and let her sit while he leaned one arm on the scored wooden surface and put up two fingers to Orville without saying anything.

As raucous as the group seemed to be, she was shocked to find that they were all almost overly-polite, presenting her with slight bows or at least hat-tips if she met their eyes and not one of them becoming presumptuous enough to introduce themselves. At least of yet. The taproom was cozy and well-lit with warm flickering light coming from the lamps that lined the walls. The décor was traditional and not in the slightest way feminine or even at all the way she would have thought an _Omega_ tavern would have been. She fancied that it was perhaps the way that plenty of normal taverns decorated. Whatever the case, she was positively in love with it.

A glass was placed in front of her with a thin stem and was curiously shaped, the liquid inside clear. Hugh was given an identical one which he quickly picked up and sipped, motioning to hers.

“Ye'll want to take that slow, gal, I say ye 'aven't had many drinks in yer lifetime and it'll fair ground ye if you're not careful.”

“What is it?”

“Gin and sweet vermouth and I think I'll not have ye drinkin' more than two tonight lest ye be bangin' on the doors tomorrow for the temperance ladies.” He winked at her before he took another gulp of his own. “Don't be worried about your reputation, Miss. I won't let the gin get the best of ye. If ye decide to kiss me later, though, I take no responsibility for that.”

She picked up the glass and bit her bottom lip, still grinning like a madman. “Is this what you're all about? Getting me to tip up a glass in order to have me kiss you?”

“I can't say I 'aven't thought about how nice that would be, Miss Watson. Yours must be the most comfortable lips in all of New York.”

“Flattery will gain you no ground, sir,” she playfully quipped before she took a careful sip of the spirits, finding their taste not quite so bothersome as she would have thought they should be. By the way her mother spoke of whiskey and the like, one would think it was the nastiest foulness upon the Earth. This was not so unpleasant at all and she rather enjoyed the subtle burn it left in her throat when she swallowed, gritting her teeth absentmindedly over it.

“Then I will not rely on flattery and I'll hope the gin does the trick so I might not have to work so hard.”

She felt her cheeks flush and she wasn't sure if it was from the warmth of the room, the spirits, or the handsome boxer who'd begun to pay her all his attention. She could very well imagine what it might be like to kiss Hugh—very much like what she'd felt when she kissed Cyril Muir, she thought. That flash of danger and the careless arousal that had struck her as if lightning knowing that what she was doing was terribly _bad_ and would likely leave her mother wondering how her daughter had ever been provoked to such _sinful_ behavior. But with a face like that, Hugh was no doubt going to be her undoing. Despite that crooked jaw and the shocking scar that ran the width of his face, she found him handsome in all the best of ways. Surely, he had faired worse than the dashing Mr. Muir, but there was something so deliberately _wild_ about him that had her transfixed. She sipped her drink while she cast covert glances toward the cupid's bow of his upper lip, the feature that was most pronounced about his mouth and that which would have brought him so much attention if he had been a pretty and primped debutante. He would have been stunning had he not been hit in the face so terribly much.

“Hugh!” came a rough shout and she felt her heart jump into her throat when she flipped her head to find a man approaching who was a bit taller than she, his shoulders held square and high and his countenance disgruntled at best. When Hugh turned about in his seat and gave a cat's grin, leaning back against the bar and sipping his drink as if nothing was awry in the slightest, Amelia calmed just a tad. The larger Omega had also been beaten around the face and he must have been another boxer, though he looked quite a bit like he must have lost a match fairly recently. He growled down at the Irishman with a distinct slur in his speech. “Ye've better got some money in your pocket to buy me a drink, ye right bastard. I don't think I've ever been put out so hard in me life!”

Hugh was still grinning.

Orville appeared behind the bar. “Keep it calm, Maddie, it was a fair fight.”

“Fair fight, my arse,” Maddie grumbled.

“Ye threw dirt in my eyes, ye bloody git, and ye about popped this one right out my skull,” Hugh laughed, seemingly tickled by the exchange. Amelia began to feel nervous again. “Maddie, this is my gal, Miss Watson.” He smiled at her openly, completely at ease with the way he'd introduced her.

 _His gal._ She felt a tingling warmth move through her body and she gave a slight nod of her head to the large Omega. “I'm pleased to meet you, Mr...”

“Just Maddie,” he stated gruffly.

“Goodness, do all of you simply go by your first names? How informal.”

Maddie scoffed. “We aren't exactly the cream of it, ye know. And how is it that Hugh managed to rope ye into a night out, Miss Watson?” He finally broke his scowl for his mouth and eyes to twitch into an incredulous smile. “Ye're hardly the type ye find at the Rabbit. No broad, 'ere. You're a Lady, bet my hat. You're too good for 'im, you hear?”

Amelia sipped at her drink. “I suppose that's what everyone will say to me. I find him quite suitable, actually.”

“Well I hope ye know wot ye're doin' with him, Miss Watson,” he said, sticking his chin up and out. “He's a scoundrel and a cheat and a poor excuse for a Catholic. Near made me bite my own fucking tongue off.”

Hugh sipped his drink and looked down into it while he casually retorted, “I should have made sure I had.”

Maddie's scent soured considerably as he loomed over the sitting boxer and put a finger to his chest. “Next time I fight you, I'm going to make sure ye regret ever stepping into that ring, do ye hear me?”

Hugh didn't move but his scent altered and hardened into a metallic, bloody tone that put Amelia immediately on edge. His voice was low and his eyes were shining and dark in the dim light. “If ye want te keep yer fingers, friend, I'd 'ave ye take them out o' me face.”

Orville slapped his bar towel against the top of the bar. “That's enough, fellas. Maddie, get out of here and soak your head in the rain to cool yourself down. You've got no business with Hugh tonight and my bar's not a fight pit. I won't be mopping up your blood if he bites your damned finger off.”

Maddie reluctantly retreated but Amelia's heart didn't stop pounding until Hugh's scent returned to normal and he turned to her with an amused smirk.

“Well that bit of unpleasantness wasn't exactly the type of good time I was goin' ta show ye but I suppose the life of someone as disagreeable as I am is full of little surprises, isn't it? I hope I 'aven't put ye off too much.” His crooked smile easily won her over.

“Of course not. Was that the gentleman that you fought to give you that eye?”

“Oh, Maddie,” he breathed, rolling his eyes. “Aye, the man's got a bit of a hook with either hand and 'e caught me bout while I was dancing about 'im. I'd take ye to a fight one of these nights but—”

“Oh yes,” she said excitedly, “I'd love to go.”

“You'd...” He seemed stunned. “You'd love to go?”

“Yes,” she giggled, “I'd love to go. You told me that you'd like for me to see the real New York and is that not a part of it? A truly immersive experience, I'm certain.” That he would ever assume that she would not like to go to a fight was beyond her. She imagined that such a place was as exciting as it was disgusting and she felt giddy just thinking of it. As it was, she was having such a relatively shocking time at the tavern that she did not want to leave it just yet. “Of course, such an excursion should perhaps wait until another night. If only to merely have an excuse to have a handsome Omega boxer arrive again at my windowsill. As frightful as it is to climb down the lattice, I find it romantic and invigorating to sneak out and be...” She lowered her lashes, fluttering them along with a tiny bite to her bottom lip. “ _Naughty._ ”

The trick was a devious one and she was rewarded when she scented his clear desire. She'd smelled it before in men both Omega and Alpha. She was victorious, at least and she downed the rest of her drink, grimacing at the flavor and the slight burn. When she turned back around on the stool and put the glass on the bar top, Hugh finished his own and put his finger up to get Orville's attention.

His voice was lower, huskier, toned by how she'd manipulated him. “'Ave ye ever had a bit o' whiskey, luv?”

“I can't say that I have. Such spirits are not for the likes of fragile young ladies, you understand,” she grinned. “Sherry is about all we're allowed and only at certain times of day.”

“Shame. Orville...two. Whiskey. Ice for the lady.”

The barkeep complied, placing two glass tumblers before them before he took away the empty glasses.

Hugh picked up his glass, bringing the edge of it to his nose. “I suppose I shouldn't feed into what they already think of us. But how a man could live without dancing with the devil every so often, I'll never know.” He sipped the liquid as easily as if it were water. “Careful with this, gal. Afore ye sip, take a deep breath.”

She raised her brows as she lifted it and did as he told her, swallowing hard against the burn, feeling her eyes well and water. “Oh my Lord,” she rasped, waving her fingers toward her face and wishing she had at least her paper fan. “Gracious God in Heaven.”

He chuckled at her and took another deep swallow.

“How are you _doing_ that?” she asked, pressing her palm hard against her chest as she felt it burn straight down into her body. “What kind of madman would make such a spirit and what sort of lunatic would _drink_ it?”

“The Irish, I guess,” he laughed, setting his glass down and turning more fully toward her, settling his elbow on the bar to lean and examine her. “It was made for us, after all. The water of life. It's something to take the edge off of bein' worked to the bone digging ditches in the cursed promised land of America.”

She fell quiet, chewing her lip again but this time for a different reason. “You've done quite well for yourself...”

“Luck,” he replied. “Luck and fight.”

“Tenacity,” she told him, picking up the glass again and taking another deep breath before her next gulp. She closed her eyes against the burning that it caused and groaned as she let the air out of her lungs. “That is...that is what the Alphas call it when an Omega is being adorably stubborn or petty. They call us _tenacious_ and if they are not so very kind, they have a way of saying it as if it is the most abhorrent thing an Omega could ever be.”

“Fools,” Hugh sniffed, leaning toward her. “I think ye're a brilliant woman, Miss Watson, and I think if any Alpha were to be unkind to ye, I'd have to take it upon myself to teach him some fucking manners.” He remembered himself for a moment. “I apologize...” He swallowed the rest of his whiskey. “I don't mean to sound like I'm flattering you again for the sake of kissin' ye.”

“You wouldn't dream of it,” she smiled.

She was, eventually, able to finish her glass in the time it took for Hugh to have two more of what she understood to be called “neat,” that was, without any ice and warm. How he could do such a thing was beyond her, the taste and burn of it nearly unbearable even when watered down and chilled a bit. The warmth it almost always immediately brought up from her chest and her throat into her face was almost like the kind of warmth she felt when she was about to fall into a heat and it was very much a bizarre correlation. The open and curious sensation that it brought over her, along with a state of hazy perception and meticulous focus upon one thing—almost always Hugh—was perplexing and not at all unpleasant. She wanted nothing more than to touch him and eventually, she did, settling her hand upon his thigh and when he met her eyes with his deliciously brown ones, she could not find the words for what she wanted. Did she even know?

“Aye,” he grinned. “I suppose it's about the time I took ye home, Miss Watson. Ye look about ready to gobble me up if I let ye have the chance.”

“Let me have the chance,” she breathed while he stood up and took her hand. He put his money on the bar and nodded to Orville while he led her to the door. She couldn't stop staring at him, even to the point where she had not quite noticed that they were outside and that it had stopped raining. It was warm and wet and the air was heavy with moisture and with Hugh's steady and constant intoxicating scent. Desire was lingering over his skin and she moved to push her nose against his throat, stopped at the last by his strong grip.

“Oh Lord, how am I to ever get ye back up to yer room? Hah!” He slipped with her down the sodden streets of the city and with some finesse, managed to convince her to climb over another fence, careful of her hem this time around. The purpose of this, she found, was for him to pull her, giggling, toward a dark hedge where he pulled her roughly against him and allowed her to scent him.

_Pipe tobacco from her father's collection and the bleary haze about in his study. Spicy Scottish pine and the musk of sweat and smoke. A nose-full of green grass and the hint of autumn in a late-summer breeze through the leaves of the aspen and the arbor._

“You won't be my first kiss,” she mumbled against the warm flesh of his throat.

His breath against her neck was harsh and the feeling of his fingers easing into the hair at the back of her head was divine. “Would be hardly fair if I were. Honest, I'm glad I'm not. I'd hate to think I'd be stealing something ye'd best like kept to yerself.”

“I've got a lot of them,” she explained, painfully aware of how his body was pressed against hers, a jutting hardness pressed intimately against her thigh that she vaguely recognized as his manhood. “I'd very much like to give you one.”

He pressed his lips against her throat and she gasped and then released a slight moan, gripping his shoulders in her hands before she delved the fingers of one into his hair. His lilt was soft and she felt his lips come to her ear, his tongue darting out to taste her before he ground his hips forward against her. “I've taken too many liberties with ye tonight already, Miss Watson. I'd be a cad te let ye give me a kiss without all your wits about ye. I know I told ye that I wouldn't say no to one, but that's what I ought to do and that's what I'll be doin' now. I'm not much a gentleman, though, so don't be getting' any fool ideas about me.”

She pouted as he drew away from her. “I wish you wouldn't be so noble.”

“What did I just say about your fool ideas ye might be getting? Me, noble...bah.” He took her hand and led her swiftly off and in a moment, she suddenly realized that she had been tucked into the hedges of her uncle's house. “I don't know if I trust ye to climb the side of this house as tossed as ye are...”

“Nonsense!” she muttered, taking to the lattice easily. “Remember,” she said over her shoulder in a low tone, “you told me that you would take me to a fight.”

“I don't believe I said any such thing,” he replied with a frown.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

He sighed, smiling up at her with his shoulders drooped. “If ye wish to see me, I'll come.”

“I do.”

“Alright then, ye silly chit. Go on up to yer room afore your father comes out and flays me alive for having scented ye in 'is very own garden. Off with ye!”

“Was I enjoyable at all...?” She frowned, ignoring his order.

“Ye've got to be joking, gal. Ye've got me hard as a steel rod and if I were in heat, I'd 'ave slick all down te my boots. I swear to it, woman, if ye make me force ye into your room, ye'll wake up with more te regret than a bit o' scenting in the hedges!”

She let loose a set of giggles so hard that she snorted while she climbed the rest of the way up the lattice, still softly cackling while she tumbled over the sill into her room, rolling over the carpet until she was laying before the hearth and staring up at the white ceiling, the fading embers of her fire illuminating the plaster in a dim orange. With an errant and irresistible thought, she leapt to her feet, excited and earnestly giddy while she threw herself to the sill again and leaned over it to see if she could spy him as he climbed back over the fence but the man was quick and stealthy and she didn't catch his retreat. Dismayed, but not overly so, she turned back to her bed and stripped off her gown, heedlessly throwing it on the floor before she threw her nightgown to the floor as well, sliding between her sheets naked and marveling at the slight bit of moisture that had pooled between her legs when she'd felt him hard against her.

Oh yes, she thought through her drunken haze. She was going to kiss that boxer. She was going to kiss him until he was absolutely mad about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy, gurl. Does Hugh even realize how full his hands are?


	6. Chapter 6

“Bless me Father, ye know I've sinned,” he breathed, sitting cross-legged upon the small teak bench inside the cool wooden box. There was a soft chuckle from the other side of the screen to his right and he grinned like an idiot. “It's been...two weeks since my last? I can't right remember. 'Ow the devil could I? I've met the most beautiful gal, Father.” Hugh closed his eyes, recalling her incredible scent and the way she'd laughed. Good lord, her laughter haunted him. There was nothing about her that wasn't pure and perfect. She sparkled and bloomed at night especially and he couldn't wait to see her again. Tonight. He giggled to himself. “I've done a lot o' sinnin' in my lifetime, as ye well know, but...”

Father O'Laughlin waited for a few moments and then prompted him softly. “But?”

“But she's so good, Father. So good.”

“There is not one of us who is without sin, child.”

“Oh, don't be givin' me that old nonsense, ye crummy git. I know what it is ye'll all say about her. Bein' English and a protestant and all. It's not as if I can marry 'er anyhow, she's an Omega. Oh, but Father, she's perfect. All pink and lace and pretty-smelling. I held myself back from kissin' 'er last night and I can't believe I did. I feel like a sod. I should have...”

“You were lustful, then.”

“When am I not? Lord...”

“Hugh,” Father O'Laughlin chided, “behave yourself.”

“I can't barely think straight, Father,” he replied, dreamily. “I feel like I'm in a cloud. In the past two weeks, I've been lustful, I've been sinnin' right good. I've been with the ladies, I've been cussin' and carryin' on. Whiskey, tobacco, sex, and fights. Everything ye gave me penance for before. But this _gal_ , Father. I've never sinned like this afore. I scented her in the garden at her father's house and sent her to her room without any kisses and I swear on my Oma, I've never felt like this...it must be a sin. It feels so good.”

O'Laughlin gave a sharp sigh and Hugh imagined he was rubbing his temples like he often did when he took a particularly bawdy confession from the stray sheep. “That's one way to know, I suppose. And this girl? You plan to kiss her.” It wasn't a question.

“I don't know what I plan to do with her. In fact, I'm keen to say _she's_ got plan for _me_ , rather. I've got a few things to do today but tonight...tonight she wants to see me again.”

“You don't need me to tell you that the decision to see her would be unwise, child.”

“That's ne'er stopped me.”

O'Laughlin snickered. “No, I suppose it never has. Are you sorry for your lust, child?”

“The Lord knows he gave it to me to trip me up and 'e's been doin' a fine job of it. 'E put Miss Amelia straight into my path and I've tripped again. I can't stop myself from feelin' this way, and I suppose all o' this is just some kind of condition of being human. If I could curse the bloody bastard, I would. I'm goin' ta hell, Father.”

“With that attitude, you might. I'll do my best to put in a good word for you in the meantime. Twenty Hail Marys. And not all at once.”

He sighed through his nose and whispered his contrition to the teak planks, plotting out in his head when he would say his Hail Marys. “Oh, my God. I am heartily sorry for 'aving offended Thee...and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all-good and deserving of my love. I firmly resolve, with the 'elp of Thy grace, to sin no more and to....” He paused, opening his eyes and darting them to the screen.

O'Laughlin let him have the moment but again, prodded him after the silence drew on too long. “You haven't forgotten it, child. You've known it for a long time. _And to_ _avoid the near occasions of sin_.”

Hugh sighed through his nose. “And to...avoid the near occasions of sin...”

“Should I expect you tonight?”

He growled. “Oh piss off ye old bastard. Ye'll get me when ye get me.”

“Very well.”

He left the confessional and wandered out the grand doors, tapping his way down the stone steps just as the early morning light had begun to warm them. He felt tired but he'd had worse, the few hours of sleep he'd managed after he'd left Amelia's doing well to restore him. He was still late, striding into Hawk's gym somewhere around nine thirty.

The place smelled like rubber and sweet-scented sweat from Omegas along with the peeved and sticky pheromones of the two Alpha managers. Hawk and her father were standing aside their indoor ring, watching two small boxers fight. Sam, the blonde one, was relatively new, his wiry frame yet to gain some of the bulk that naturally built as one trained for high-powered punches. As lithe as he was, he was quick to jump about, sometimes too haphazard for his own good. He was too disorganized, often forgetting where his opponent's next step could have been placed to get in a decent hit—which was just what Niall took advantage of, slipping one foot to the side and driving a powerful right hook straight into Sam's jaw before he ripped him a few good hits to his ribs. The hits sent him against the ropes and he coughed in shock.

“Agh, fuck,” the elder Hawk muttered. “Niall, back off. Sam, if you can't take any hits, yer gonna end up a glass cannon. You've got to roll _with_ Niall's hits, not resist against them.”

Hugh moved to the changing room and took off his clothes, slipping into his loose-fitting cotton pants and padding about in his bare feet. He examined himself in the mirror, noting the bruises to his ribs that Maddie had managed to give him before he leaned forward and looked carefully at the purplish ring around his eye. It would take some time to heal but it wouldn't impede his ability to fight. It wasn't as if Cyril Muir had hit him in the eye.

He let his fingers touch his slightly off-center jaw and remembered how badly the hotelier's son had hit him to cause it. It had been an unconventional way to meet a lover, that was for certain. But when Cyril had offered to pay for his doctors, it was as if the heavens had opened up and delivered him more than just a formidable opponent. Cyril's kisses had been like fire, his touch like ice, and his sex exhilarating. It had been a shame to lose him. There weren't any of the other boxers that appealed to Hugh in the same way that Cyril had.

_There was only Amelia._

She was remarkably similar, he thought, to Cyril. Kind, open, though not entirely, and prone to mischief. She was not half so grumpy as Muir had been, however, and it was that that was truly endearing.

He wandered out into the gym and was about to set himself up with some weights before he heard Vincent Hawk call his name. “Come show Sam how to take a hit.”

“Christ,” he whispered, rolling his eyes. With a fluid set of movements, he pulled himself into the ring, shaking himself as he met Miss Hawk's eyes, jutting his chin out at her defiantly. She was obviously still angry at him. He turned to Sam. “Take yer stance.”

The boy lifted his fists to his face and tucked his chin.

“I'm going to hit ye in the gut,” Hugh said, cracking his knuckles. “And when I do it, ye're goin' ta breathe out. Real sharp.” He blew out his mouth fast to show him what he meant. “You ken?”

“Should I try to block you?”

“No.”

Sam nodded and Hugh hit him. He groaned a bit and took a step backwards but wasn't winded. “Alright,” he said, breathing in, “I get it.”

Hugh took his stance and made a hand gesture. “Lay one on me. The side with the bad eye.”

Sam appeared confused.

“Do it.”

He did and Hugh let him make contact as he rolled away from the blow, the brief hit more glancing than anything. It was a well-formed punch and it could have done damage if Hugh had resisted against it but as he rolled with it, he was practically unharmed, imagining that he most likely only sustained a small pink spot on his jaw.

“Oh,” Sam said, dropping his hands. “Now I feel like an idiot.”

“Because you are an idiot,” Vincent muttered. “Hugh. Where have you been?”

“Confession.”

Miss Hawk rolled her eyes and barked at him. “I hope you said plenty of prayers, you little bitch, because you're not leaving here until I'm satisfied that you're going to win the next match I've set you up with.”

“And when is that?”

“Tuesday at the Crown. I've got a look at the bloke and he's not one you've met before. He's got a hard right and he's a brawler.”

Brawlers were usually big. He flattened his mouth and slipped through the ropes again, heading toward the heavy sand-filled bag that hung from the ceiling.

Niall followed him. “Would you like me to wrap your hands, Hugh?”

“Let the Alpha wrap my hands,” he growled, staring at Hawk. “She's got to know how to do it, might as well let her practice.” He put them out to her and watched her do it with a hard eye. Her touch was nothing but professional, harsh and unfamiliar. When she had first met him, she had shown some interest, her experiences with Omegas obviously limited to those that might have been frivolous with intimacy. She had not met the boxers. With his attitude, she had easily soured against them all and realized just how fickle they could be.

He whispered under his breath while she wrapped his second hand.

“ _Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh, anois, agus ar uair ár mbáis._ ”

Hawk glared at him, around him long enough at least to recognize his prayers. He whispered two more while he was practicing with the bag, one spread out while he was shadow boxing, and nine while he was jumping rope. He boxed a few rounds with Niall until they put him in with Sam and he had the poor boy against the ropes for most of their match. The rest of his morning was spent alternating between running the circuit of the gym and stretching to cool himself down from his sparring matches. Niall and Sam weren't the only other boxers that Vincent was training but they were the only ones present, meaning he could only practice with Niall's often-predictable movements and Sam's dismal flailings that often amounted to one good hit along with dancing footwork and weak jabs.

With a few more stretches, he slowed to a walk and slipped into the changing room, stripping off his loose cotton pants and striding to where he'd left his folded clothes.

Hawk's stern voice sounded behind him. “And what the devil do you think you're—oh, drat!” Realizing he was nude, she spun toward the door, her frustration and shame flooding the small room along with her stinging scent. “Damn you, Omega! I haven't told you that you're allowed to leave!”

“I have a real job, ye know, Alpha,” he chuckled, grinning at her response to his body. A slight undertone of excitement lay in her aroma, spiced even while less than prominent. “As much as fighting is in my blood, I've got an obligation to the hotel.”

“I am your Alpha, what I say—”

“ _Oh no_ ,” he blurted, letting loose an incredulous chuckle. “You are not _my Alpha._ ”

“Listen—”

“No, no, no,” he murmured in a low, dangerous lilt, “You listen. I am no one's Omega. I belong to _no one_. I don't care who you _think_ you are to me, Miss Hawk, but ye can just erase whatever it was that ye thought and put it right out o' yer mind. You do not control me.” With that said, he began to put his clothes on, stuffing his arms through his shirt sleeves roughly.

“ _I am your Alpha,_ ” Hawk announced, her _Alpha_ voice sharp and reverberating in the small room while her angered scent grew stronger.

Hugh snapped his head up to look at her back, his whole body filled with icy rage. His voice was nothing but a cold whisper. “ _What did you just say to me, Alpha?_ ”

Her resolve faltered and in her shock, she turned to look at him, confused by his unexpected response. She had never used that tactic against him, in fact, it was the mark of an inexperienced manager to have to use the Alpha tone in order to manipulate their boxers and as such, most boxers were much too willful to heed it anyhow. The order was clear but her certainty in what she had said to him was wavering. Now, she was speechless, faced with an overwhelmingly defiant and mostly naked Omega.

“ _I asked you a question, Alpha_ ,” he growled. “ _What did you just say to me?_ ”

She was gone, suddenly. The stink of her apparent shame lingering while he pulled on the rest of his clothes, fitting his cap to his head before he left, finding Vincent standing outside the door with a cigarette on his lip.

_Great._

The Alpha wordlessly held out a smoke and Hugh took it, allowing the tall, well-built man to light it with a match.

Hugh spat. “I suppose this is where ye tell me I've been too rough with her. Did I make 'er cry? She deserves it, if I did.”

“And if you did,” Vincent said gruffly, “are you proud of it?”

“Only a fool tells a boxer that he's not 'is own man.”

“I heard Carmon had to stop her from putting you down the other night. Is that what you're itching for? If you've got a death wish, Hugh, there are easier ways to go about getting yourself killed by an Alpha without goading my daughter to murder.” His sharp black eyes softened. “You're a hell of a fighter and I'm trying to teach her best I can. I know you'll buck at every chance but who am I to give her who'll boost her confidence?”

“Am I doin' that? Is it enough just to win for her? Why don't ye give her Niall? 'E's got more patience than I 'ave. By the bucket, even. He's not a bad fighter.”

“He won't win as often.”

“She's not my Alpha.” He took a long drag, letting it out through his nose. “She's a sorry excuse for one as it is.”

“You're a harsh critic, Hugh.”

“What did she think was going to happen? That I would just fall in line and do whatever she said? Did she have some kind of power fantasy that fell apart as soon as she got me?”

Vincent chuckled. “And if she did?”

Hugh blinked. “Did she?”

“I told her she was making a mistake in begging for you. You can't tell an Alpha anything. She's stubborn as a mule and she won't take advice until she's learned it for herself. Now that she's got you, she's won every fight and lost every battle. She's asked me if I'd take you back. If she could have someone else. Anyone else. She's even asked for Sam, she's so embarrassed by the way you speak to her in front of the other Alphas.”

“And?”

“I've told her no. She knew how you were when she begged to have you and now that she's got you, I'll not have her break her word that she would do right by you. I did make her promise that, you know.” He smiled to himself.

“She's doing a piss poor job. I'm of half the mind that Muir was right in managing 'imself.”

“And how did that turn out for him?” Vincent ground out, flicking the rest of his cigarette to the street. “They'd eat you alive, Hugh. Just because you're feisty and you can throw a decent punch doesn't mean you'll be able to stop what they'll do to you if you get cocky.”

“And what will _she_ do to me? Backed into a corner with an Omega she can't stand? What's stopping her from taking what she will and leavin' me te bleed?”

Vincent stared at him, his eyes nor his scent betraying what he felt. “Because I would kill her.”

“She's your flesh and blood,” Hugh laughed, nervously.

“And my boxers are my life and my reputation. You are not worth so little to me, Hugh. I do not value her life over yours. Not because she is my daughter and certainly not because she is an Alpha.” He cleared his throat and turned to fully face the little boxer. “There are some managers who treat you all like animals, and some days, I could swear to it that you _were_ animals, as wild as you can be. But I cannot think of you that way. You've all proven your strength, your merit, and your will. It is not any Omega who can resist an Alpha's voice. There are some who have cut their own wrists or thrown themselves from balconies for simply being told to do so. You. You and the others have an inner strength that defines you. It is what makes you _win_. Until she can understand an Omega's true nature, one cultivated from power and spirit, she will be ineffective. You are her teacher, Hugh. And, in effect, you have all the freedom of Muir without losing my protection. Even from my own flesh and blood.”

“How do ye do that?” Hugh muttered. “Sound at once both fatherly and cruel?”

“And how do you do this?” was Vincent's retort as he gestured to Hugh's whole figure. “Simultaneously a practicing Catholic and a drunken, philandering bare-knuckled fighter.”

“ _Touch_ _é_ ,” he replied. As the conversation was over, he flicked away his cigarette and put his hands in his pockets, walking off to the hotel for a shower and his shift. He didn't answer any of Tilly's pointed questions about how the morning had gone and by the time his shift was over, he had drank enough luke-warm tea that he was fair itching for a reason to stay up late.

“Any plan for tonight, handsome?” Tilly asked, her tired smile wide. “Going to the tavern again?”

“Wouldn't ye know it, I met this gal,” he smiled. “I thought I might take her out.”

A bizarre tone shifted in Tilly's scent and Hugh started, flicking his gaze to her blank expression as he recognized it as _jealousy_.

“Tilly?” he asked, suddenly baffled.

She stood suddenly, tipping over the stool she'd been sitting on as she stumbled for the door.

“Tilly?” he asked again as she was in the doorway, causing her to pause for a second.

“I-I just...I have to get home, you know. To...to feed the _cat_.”

He watched her disappear, still startled by her quick movements and the jealousy he'd scented in her normally leather-like fragrance. There must have been something that he'd been unable to hide in his own scent. There must have been something he had betrayed when he'd thought of those beautiful locks of dark hair and those enchanting and quizzical gray eyes. He smiled dumbly to himself and whispered honestly, “I didn't know she had a cat.”

He didn't bother climbing the lattice this time. Gas lights were on in the parlor and he made sure to swoop into the yard more effectively than the last time, moving down below her window where he picked up a small pebble and threw it at her window. It missed. Five more pebbles later and one finally made a small tick against the glass. His heart was beating in his throat when he thought of how she would look down at him and her face would light up with a devious little smile. A grin just for him. When it happened, he thought he would be prepared but he wasn't.

_You don't need me to tell you that the decision to see her would be unwise, child._

Her smile was radiant and she wasted no time when she saw him in the grass, taking to the lattice and climbing down with careful efficiency. She hopped to the ground and twirled about with her eyes sparkling in the cool light of the moon. Without speaking, she took his hand and led him to the fence where she waited for him to climb over and then tumbled into his arms on the other side. When they were safely on the road and wandering off, she turned to him, walking carefully backward in her slippers while she held up her skirts.

“A fight, Hugh? I'm fair jittering from the thought! Please say you'll take me.”

“Ye're still on about that? Oh Lord.” He looked up at the starry sky and then back down to her, slipping his fingers into his pocket for a cigarette. “I s'pose I'll take ye to a fight, Miss Watson, but ye can tell me ye want te leave whenever ye get uncomfortable. Ken?”

“Ken?”

“Understand?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled radiantly, showing him all of her white teeth. “I've never been to a fight or anything of the like before. The Alphas won't even talk about such things with us about and I have to admit, I'm _most_ curious.” She watched him light his cigarette while she fell in beside him again. “What is that like? Tobacco?”

“Not for ladies. Not for... _proper_ ladies.”

“Neither is a fight. Neither is whiskey. Neither is _sneaking out with libertine Irishmen._ ”

He grinned. “I'm drawin' yer line here, gal. I'll not be letting ye further entrench yerself into the gutter by smokin'. I'll take ye to a fight, I'll even let ye drink if ye have the mind to tonight. But I'll not have ye makin' it look like ye're some loose woman in front of all o' those Alphas that're gonna be loitering outside.”

She stiffened and straightened her back and shoulders. “Well...when you've put it in such a manner...I suppose I shall keep myself from such a thing. For the sake of...of...propriety and all.”

He nodded and led her toward another small side street but this time the tavern wasn't hidden in the slightest. It was bigger and it was set apart from its neighbors with at least ten or so Alphas hanging around the side alley where the door to the cellar stayed open to air out the thick stench of pheromones and blood.

“Ye might wish te hold yer nose, Miss Watson,” he advised her. “The smell o' these Alphas'll make ye right sick.”

“Oh gracious,” she replied, flustered even as they only approached the door. Her wide gray eyes were flitting between the men who turned to look at her, curious only as to her clear, sweet scent and the dress of a well-bred woman.

“This'll 'elp ye, if I may?” He offered her his wrist and at her nod, he carefully scented her upper lip. The sensation of that impossible softness over the thin flesh of his inner wrist was enough to give him gooseflesh. “I can only hope ye don't find me too unpleasant...”

Her nose flared at his scent and she granted him a coy glance. “Oh...not too terribly.” Her teasing distracted her and Hugh held out his arm which she took readily.

Down about six steps, he pulled her into the room which was not small but was packed tight with smelly Alphas, only partially subdued by the sweet and temperate tones of the Omegas who fought. Several of them were standing butted up next to the ring to watch their comrades fight and their ranks offered protection and stability, at least for the moment. He led the little miss to them and made the introductions.

“Miss Watson, these blokes are Elias, Griff, Wyatt, and Adison. Gentlemen, Miss Amelia Watson, of England.”

The four Omegas made sloppy bows but murmured their salutations well.

“I've no idea who's fighting tonight. Miss Watson wanted to 'ave a peek for a bit.” He looked about himself. “Shouldn't stay long, might need te get ourselves dusted by the gals at Molly's if we stink too 'orribly after.”

Elias shrugged, casting shy glances toward Amelia. “Mayhap we'll...walk you there. Always safer that way. It's Bear and Logson in the ring tonight. I give them ten rounds before Bear puts him out with a haymaker.”

Amelia leaned forward a little. “I'm sorry, what is a haymaker?”

Hugh smiled at her. “It's a wild but brutal swing. There're some that'll put ye right on yer arse if they manage to hit ye with 'em. Dodging can be easy if ye 'aven't got dirt in yer eyes.” A flash of anger flooded through him when he thought of Maddie's crooked tactic in his last fight.

The little miss nodded serenely and studied the ring. He watched her take in every detail, soaking it up while she pulled a fan seemingly from nowhere and began fluttering it at her throat, spreading about her delicate fragrance. Alphas here were no strangers to the powerful aromas of sweaty and overwrought Omegas so it was no surprise that Miss Amelia was completely ignored by them, as unbothered by them as they were by her. He was engrossed by her, watching her steady eyes studying everything about the environment from the patrons to the ceiling beams. She was immersed in the experience and she only grew more interested when the fighters stepped in.

Bear, as was implied by his name, was quite a bit bigger than most Omegas, even Maddie who was quite tall. What Maddie lacked in muscle, however, Bear had more than enough to spare. He was one Omega that Hugh was quick to avoid when it came to fights and, so far, he'd been lucky enough to avoid him. He'd lost only to fighters who were quick on their feet, fast with their wit, and hard with their hits. One wild swing from Bear, however sloppy, could land a weary boxer in their bed for a week. Amelia scrutinized him, her eyes wide and her scent excited and filled with anticipation before she flitted that careful gaze to Logson. He was smaller than Bear but made up for the loss of power with a decided amount of scrap and tactic. Like Cyril, Logson was flexible and adaptable, often using the weight of an opponent against them—the perfect way to handle a behemoth such as Bear. Amelia's brows twitched together and she leaned toward Hugh, her voice a low murmur.

“He is so much smaller. How shall he win?”

“He might not. If 'e gets hit too hard, it'll knock 'is sense right out and 'e won't be able to use his wits. Long as 'e can keep his plans right, he has as good a chance as any.”

She stared at the two fighters as they spoke to their managers on either side of the ring. “It seems quite impossible. I suppose all the bets must be against him.”

“Not always,” he murmured to her, drawing her eyes when he lifted a finger to push a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Sometimes it's the smaller fighter who 'as the greater chance for the win.”

Her scent warmed at his gentle caress. “Are you flirting with me, Hugh?”

“If ye ask every time, I'll start te thinkin' I'm not as subtle as I assumed. I can't touch ye a moment without accusations flyin' about?” He laughed.

“Do not become convinced that I am objecting. I am far from it, I swear. Your touch is quite...acceptable.” Her cheeks colored high.

He would have liked to have pestered her further to draw out her intentions for him—he was dying to know—but of course that was the moment that Bear made the first throw that swung wide away from Logson, the beginnings of the fight drawing Amelia's attention far from him. The first round was mostly the smaller of the two of them dancing about and avoiding throws while he created his strategy in his head. By the time it was drawing to a close, Amelia had her bottom lip between her teeth while she grinned, her reactions to each swing as visceral as he had ever seen. She twitched and flinched at every near miss and the sharp ducks that Logson managed as he teetered and tipped on his heels and toes, trying valiantly to dance about the larger fighter and still keep his balance while avoiding each swing.

He used the distraction of the fight to tip himself closer to her, whispering in her ear as the second round began. “Ye've got a clear favorite, little miss.”

“Logson,” she said, flashing him an unsure glance. “He is the smaller one?”

“He is.”

“I like him. I like the way he moves.” She turned her head back to the action but kept speaking to him. His ears were so tuned to her that he could hear her over the din of the crowd around them as easy as breathing. “Do you move as such? Like water?”

He raised a brow at Logson's latest dodge, noting the fluidity in his movements. “I'm sure I don't know, Miss Amelia. One day, perhaps, ye'll see me fight and ye'll tell me how I move.”

“I hope to...” she said, trailing off as Bear caught Logson around the neck. “Oh no.”

“Ah. A tough spot for 'im.”

Bear laid one and then another on him before he managed to knock the larger man off balance and sent them both tumbling to the floor. Bleeding but otherwise alright, Logson got up immediately and trotted away toward the side, avoiding Bear until the third round.

As each round melted away and the boxers began to tire, Amelia was more and more animated, even making small squeaks and tiny Omega-like whines under her breath when she thought her favorite might have been in danger. It was the thirteenth before the decisive victory. With too many missed hits and more movement than he was used to, Bear was at his wits end and began throwing too many useless throws, giving Logson openings for maddening sets of jabs that brought him in close enough to render Bear unsteady, sending him to the ground several times before the smaller Omega leaped upon him and let go a flurry of hooks that accomplished his goal. Bear was unconscious when he stood up and staggered to his corner, collapsing against the wooden side of the ring.

“Well,” Wyatt muttered, drawing all of their attention. “If Bear had lasted one more round, he might not have even had to hit the poor boy. Logson could have dropped dead from all of that damned footwork. Lots of fancy posturing if you ask me.”

Hugh grunted. “If it weren't so over-done, it would 'ave been a decent strategy. I'd fair say 'e had a crush on someone 'ere. Who's 'e tryin' to impress?”

Elias crossed his arms. “Whoever it is, he almost mucked it right up, the idiot.”

A deep, crooning voice sounded from behind them and Hugh felt a lance of brutal shock beat through his chest while he turned around to face the Alpha who'd spoken.

“Perhaps he caught a whiff of our little lady who's come to pay us a visit.” Vega's icy eyes shined cold even in the warm lamplight of the basement. His Alpha scent was nearly overpowering when he held out his hand and kissed the backs of Amelia's fingers with a deep and reverent bow to her. “A wonderful gift, your presence, my Lady.”

“Kind of you, sir,” Amelia squeaked, “But I am merely a miss, no Lady.”

“You've fooled me. Your face, my god, is that of an angel. No carved stone edifice could boast a more potently beautiful statuette—”

Hugh took a step forward. “That's about enough from you, ye dirty old lecher.”

Vega drew up, his affront nearly palpable in his scent. There was danger here and Hugh was no stranger to it. There was not a boxer alive in New York who didn't know what the bookies were capable of. Especially Vega—a ringleader of sorts. He played at aloofness, fiddling with his cuffs while he nursed his chuffed ego and cleared his throat. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss...”

“Her name is no consequence to ye. Why don't ye _piss off?_ ”

“Awful possessive, aren't you, Omega?”

“Awful _pushy_ , aren't ye, _Alpha_?” He growled, stepping further between Amelia and the towering man before her.

He smiled coldly and bent over just slightly to come closer to a face-to-face with Hugh, his scent giving out a warning that caused all of the other Omegas to scatter, their ranks not numerous enough to have crowded about him, leaving the Irishman alone with Amelia behind him, trembling slightly but brave enough to stand her ground. “I'm not pushy,” Vega whispered. “I'm _persuasive._ ”

“That so?”

“Don't make me persuade you, Omega. Eventually, through will and power, I will erode you. You'd do well not to step into the path of the tornado.”

“Excuse me,” came Amelia's soft murmur and her small hand came to Hugh's shoulder, the touch instantly working to calm him, drawing his attention and redirecting his focus. She eased herself forward and gave a pleasant curtsy while Hugh frowned. “Miss Amelia Watson, sir Alpha.”

“ _Amelia_ ,” Hugh groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Watson,” Vega blinked with his smile, “I wasn't aware Howard had any children.”

“Oh, you know Howard? He is my uncle.”

Vega's scent evened out as best it could, still over-spiced and insistent. “A good Beta. Conservative in his bets and yet successful. Most Betas are. A man who likes a sure thing by his own eyes and not from the tell of the vine.” He straightened. “And as his niece and such a proper little lady, what in the world could you be doing with these ruffians? They're a lot of rubbish, these boxers. Hardly even fit to be deemed human, much less _Omega._ ”

“For a man who makes his money from their blood, I would have thought you would have had more respect for them.” She arched one perfect brow and casually rearranged her skirts where she stood, flipping open her fan with a snap to gently flutter it over herself to dispel his scent.

He chuckled. “Cheeky little miss, aren't you? And still I cannot believe you could be well-matched with the likes of these brutes. They cannot _appeal_ to you...”

“On the contrary,” she replied. “I find them engaging. They are, in fact, despite your denial of it, _Omegas_. In that regard, we are already comrades and it makes us fast friends. Pity that many Alphas seemingly lack the capacity for such quick connections...”

Vega's eyelid twitched at the barb and his smile became stony and frozen. “Ah. I see,” he breathed. “Carry on then, Miss Watson. Though, if you insist on keeping a dog, I should suggest that he be kept on a shorter lead.” He flashed a malignant glare to Hugh before he turned and huffed, retreating back into the crowd while Amelia flattened her fan against her chest.

“Whew,” she sighed. “I suppose that could have gone worse.”

“Gal, ye fair _roasted_ the man. A 'man who makes his money from their blood'!? Agh! Ye're a damned mess, is what ye'are. That's was _Vega Kowalczyk._ ”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” she asked, the pink high on her cheekbones spreading.

“I suppose it wouldn't, gal.” He brushed a hand back through his hair before he put his cap back on. “Afore we get into any more trouble tonight, I say it's about time I got ye a drink and took ye home.”

That was his intent. Of course, by the time he'd gotten her two different drinks, she'd charmed everyone at the tavern, and most of all him. He didn't want to take her home. Honestly, when he saw her chatting amiably with the other boxers and even with the staff, he couldn't help but stare at her and wonder just how long he could keep her out before someone should notice. Maybe just until the sky began to pinken at the horizon. It seemed like a long time away but then time was always so short when one was enjoying it immensely. He watched her laugh at something Elias said, her head thrown back and her pretty throat exposed. Something steeled within him and he fought the urge to kiss her there on that white expanse where an Alpha could have placed his bite. He wanted to let her use him—whatever her intentions were, he could accept them. He wanted to lay himself down at her feet and take pleasure in how she stepped upon him. He wanted her to know that he was at her disposal...that he would die for her...just to make her happy for a small while.

_For that's all it could ever be._

She would have to return to London eventually. She would have to return for the Season and to find her Alpha mate. She would have to wash off his scent and forget him, no matter how close they became.

_But to have her close for a moment is to hold her memory forever._

_“Hail Mary,”_ he whispered while he watched her profile, _“full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thee among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother o' God. Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”_

Amelia flitted her eyes to him and her smile had him in tatters. “Are you talking to yourself, Hugh? Have you gone batty?”

“Prayers, gal,” he replied with a smirk. “For what ye do te me.”

Her smile slowly faltered and faded and a serious expression played with her features. Her warm fingers found his and she leaned forward, tickling his ear with her breath.

_“Might we go somewhere?”_

“Aye, gal,” he said. “I aim to take ye home.” He pulled her from her bar stool and she gave her plentiful goodbyes to the boxers and the staff, ever-popular with her beauty and her wit.

When she turned to him again outside in the heat of the night, she asked seriously, “Will you let me kiss you tonight, Hugh?”

“It's not enough to force me into a near death at the hands of the damned bookie, ye'll be trying the Lord's patience by sending me six feet under with a kiss. How am I to explain that to God? I died afore I's thirty for some pretty girl who decided to plant one right on me lips?”

She was laughing and it was terrifically infectious, seeding through him until he couldn't help but let out a hearty set himself. They laughed and chuckled mindlessly as they wandered through the dark streets but when he'd finally gotten her back to the yard—and the hedges—she was all business, pulling him by the front of his shirt until she had clumsily pressed herself flush against him.

“ _Amelia,_ ” he whispered, simultaneously indignant and impressed.

“Kiss me, Hugh,” she begged, and he could scent the barest traces of whiskey on her breath.

“Will it do me any good t'argue with ye?”

“No.”

He felt as if he had been a stone and was suddenly turned, as if by magic, to sand, tumbling over himself while he leaned into her and pressed his mouth against hers. The whiskey they'd both been drinking was sharp in his senses and he brought his fingers gently to her throat to guide her while she clutched his shoulders, her inexperience in kissing both endearing and amusing for him to behold. While he backed off and kissed her again, he toyed with the idea of begging for her to deepen it, to dip his tongue into the honey of her mouth and take everything she had asked him to take from her. Before he could further consider it, however, he was rudely interrupted.

A light shined harsh through his eyelids and he broke from her at a startled gasp, his body freezing involuntarily at the shock of being discovered.

“ _Amelia! What the devil are you doing!?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this is almost 7000 words. Hugh! You're confounding lots of people today!!! (Is that his everyday?)
> 
> I worked on this for so long, I don't have a chapter even started for my other story. Lort. Oh Hugh. Now you've been _discovered_!!! [/dismay]
> 
> A huge thanks to anyone who reads this story and comments on it. I really appreciate it. With that said, if anyone is hardcore Catholic and would like to protest on how Hugh is presented within that context, feel free to let me know. Every Catholic I talked to said they hadn't been to confession for like 5 years and Hugh obviously goes much more often and is a bit more serious about his immortal soul. Would love to hear about that. Being not-so-very religious and confirmed in a Presbyterian church, I know absolutely nothing about Catholicism other than what I've read up on.


	7. Chapter 7

Her immediate response upon being discovered was to freeze, followed by a quick and decisive motion to try to place Hugh behind her. This effort failed only because she found herself fighting with the shorter Omega as _he_ attempted to step in front of _her._ After a few aborted shoves between the two of them, they both looked up toward the glowing lamplight and her heart practically jumped into her throat at the sight of Howard.

He was dressed in his sleep clothes and dressing gown and his Beta scent was overrun with his shock and annoyance. His face was pinched and his expression almost comically incredulous to find his niece cavorting in his hedges. He was flanked by two Beta footmen who were eying Hugh with open disgust and when he spoke again, he was deliberate.

“Inside. Now. _Both_ of you.”

She protested. “Uncle Howard, I cannot see for what reason you would need to take—”

“ _Bo_ _th of you_ ,” he repeated.

“But Uncle—” She was stopped short by Hugh's soft fingertips pressing upon her hand and she looked down at where he touched her before she found his eyes. He was willing to go. Despite the anxiety that had rushed through her, she felt inexplicably relieved in knowing that she would not be alone when she was scolded. It was a novel concept—she was an only child. She was the only Omega in her family. She had never had a friend who could share something so intimate as chastisement before. She dipped her head and moved to take Hugh's hand, her grip loose just in case he might have the mind to make a run for it if he got the opportunity. She would not deny him that right. He didn't and they were both ushered into the downstairs parlor while the footmen waited outside the door.

She stood with him, still holding his hand and awkwardly watching Howard while he walked to the side cupboard and poured himself a drink, his scent even with his annoyance.

“Who is your guardian Alpha?” Howard asked, the question clearly settled upon Hugh.

Hugh tightened his hold on Amelia's hand. “I am my own guardian. I've no need for an Alpha.” As an afterthought, he added at the end, “Sir.”

“Clearly, you require one. If I am to have my men deliver you somewhere, I expect there to be an Alpha there who will take responsibility for you.”

“I 'ave no Alpha, sir. I am my own Alpha. I take full responsibility for myself.”

“And if I had you arrested for kidnapping my niece and ravishing her in my own garden—”

“ _Uncle Howard—_ ”

He put up his finger toward her and she fell silent again, her lip between her teeth. “If I had you arrested, who would come to collect you? You cannot be collected by simply anyone. Only an Alpha willing to be responsible for you would find you and take you home. Shall we find out who your Alpha is the hard way?”

Hugh squared his shoulders and met Howard's eyes. “Ye can do what ye will, sir. But I have no Alpha.”

Howard took a long pause while he sipped his brandy, his stare level with Hugh's. “How did you meet my niece?”

“I found her a few blocks from 'ere getting pestered by some ingrates. Calmed 'er down, brought 'er back...”

“Then I should be grateful to you but there is where my gratitude ends. What could either of you two been _thinking_?” He turned his eyes to Amelia, “You are a well-bred young woman who has been presented to the _King_ as a debutante of the London Season and I find you tucked into the hedges letting a ragged _vagabond_ kiss you as if you were no more than a common _prostitute._ ”

She almost wanted to argue that the prostitutes that she had met were quite nice young ladies and just as pretty as any debutante but she stayed her tongue. Had she been alone, she would have found this bit of accusation positively mortifying. But she was still holding Hugh's hand. His warmth was near to her and his scent was almost unnaturally calm. He'd faced worse than this before...and he was somehow suppressing it. She glanced at him, wondering how he'd managed to do such a thing.

Howard took another gulp of his brandy. “Thank God your mother sleeps like the dead or she'd be in this room right now caterwauling and _thank God_ you at least weren't stupid enough to let some _Alpha_ grope you in the garden. Good _God_ , Amelia, _look at him!_ ”

She turned her head to Hugh who didn't return her gaze. He was still staring at Howard, resolute and unafraid. He was ruffled and his cap was askew. He wasn't wearing a waistcoat or a cravat and his slender throat was bare. His boots were dirty and there was a smudge of something on the side of his chin. His black eye was faded into a half-ring of purplish to green. He was so damnably handsome, she thought. Her eyes lingered on those lips that had kissed her, plush and pink and perfect—

“You two are unbelievable,” Howard muttered, putting his face in his hand. “It's past midnight and I'm here talking to two Omegas as if they'll listen to anything that comes out of my mouth. Amelia, I haven't known you for very long but you did not strike me as a stupid girl before tonight.”

Her throat tightened and she shot her eyes to her uncle.

“What do I have to do?” He shook his head, turning his focus to Hugh. “What do I have to do to make sure you don't come back? Shall I call the constable?”

“No!” Amelia squeaked, jumping slightly.

Hugh pulled her back by her hand and took a small step in front of her. “No. I'd have ye promise me...”

“What is it, Omega?”

“That ye won't be cruel to her. It's not her fault. I'm to blame. I'd ask that after I'm gone, ye treat her as if it ne'er happened.”

Her mouth felt cottony and dry.

“I've only kissed the girl once and she can't be ruined by me. At least not in any way that counts. She's as innocent as she e'er was and I'd swear to it on me Oma. Please don't be cruel to her. It's all I ask.”

Amelia whined, her frustration bubbling. “That's not true! It's _not_ Hugh's fault! I was the one who asked him to kiss me. I was the one who wanted to go to the fight!”

Howard balked. “You went to a _fight_? Well, that explains the _smell._ ”

“Please don't be cross with him, Uncle Howard, he's so very kind and—”

“I don't care a whit if he's _kind_ , Amelia. He's not even fit to be a servant! Not even a moderately respectable house would hire him, he's a _vagrant_!” He turned his glare again to Hugh. “You knew she was a proper lady and you took advantage of her anyway. You should be ashamed of yourself, Omega. She's far above your station and you'd best keep that in mind in the future. It's absolutely appalling that so many of you common folk simply can't seem to remember your _place._ ” He finished his brandy. “Now get out. If I see you again, I'll have you rotting in prison.”

Hugh cast her one last glance and with a soft sigh through his nose, he squeezed her hand before he slipped away. Her heart felt as though it were cracking in a thousand different places as he disappeared from the parlor.

Her lip was between her teeth when Howard turned to her with that disapproving gaze.

“I suppose that this is what has your mother's nerves frayed so badly.”

Amelia felt hot tears in her eyes and she whispered into the room. “I don't want to be a debutante.”

“What would you rather be? What are you trying to become, Amelia? Good lord, girl, there are safer ways to have an affair. Ways that don't involve going to fights—”

“I _wanted_ to go to the fight. In fact, if I could go to a dozen more, that would be perfectly acceptable and I would enjoy all of them.” She felt her tears slip from the corners of her eyes but their meaning had changed from sorrow to irritation. “The fact is, Uncle, I don't believe anyone to be beneath me. I don't believe Hugh to be any different than I am in worth.”

“Then you're wrong.”

“And am I wrong when I suggest that I am no lesser than an Alpha? That I should be able to rule my own life and live the way I see fit without being forced to mold myself to their notions of what a _good_ Omega should do? I spend all of my time trying to become something that I am clearly not and it fails time and time again because _I am not_ good or decent or lovely or fit to be married to some stuffy Lord.”

Howard was decidedly pensive, his scowl upon her as she ranted.

She continued undaunted, more of those insidious tears dripping down her cheeks. “I am not a respectable girl, Uncle. I'm just Amelia. Just Miss Amelia Watson and I'm no better or worse than any Omega. Boxer, prostitute, servant...” She shook her head. “I think he's a wonderful man, Uncle Howard. He's beautiful and he's sweet and he knows me like no other dynamic could know me. He knows that we've got hearts that are wild and willful and he knows how to make it hurt less to be...”

He cocked a brow at her.

She stayed standing even as her knees threatened to buckle. “He knows how to make it hurt less to be _me._ ”

Howard sighed through his nose and he perched himself on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs near the hearth. “Oh Amelia...” he mused. “You are so very young. You're very young and you're very inexperienced. I know you don't want to believe this of him, thinking him to be of all honorable intentions, but New York and London are very much the same in this and I should not have you taken advantage of in the future.”

She watched him run his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair.

“You are a young, pretty girl from a good family. If he can make you believe that he loves you. Make you believe that he is a good soul. If he can inch his way deeper into your heart and make you desperate to help him, he would try as well as he could to pull money straight out of your pockets. He's a trickster, little one, a man you'd find at the corner with three cards and quick hands.”

“That's not true.”

Howard pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot convince you merely by saying it. You would never believe me if he had never asked you for a pence, which, by this stage, he should not. An Alpha is a brute, he would demand your money outright. A Beta is the master of the long con. But an Omega. An Omega can pull the wool over any man's eyes and rob you blind in an instant. They can disappear without a trace as if they never existed and they will take everything and leave destruction in their wake. There have been many men who have thrown themselves from the Church Tower for their broken love for a swindler.”

“You don't know him...” she whispered.

“Pardon, Amelia,” he mused, “But neither do you.”

She drew in a harsh intake of breath through her nose and whirled toward the dark hearth, hugging herself. “It doesn't matter anyway. You've banished him. You. Who told me that if I were compromised in England I should come have an _adventure_.”

He sighed. “One more season, Amelia. One more and I will let you have whatever trickster your heart desires. One more and you may make all the mistakes I've told you that you would regret.”

“I don't want one more. I don't want any of them. I just want...”

_Hugh._

Howard stood. “I know. You want to be free. Well we all have to contend with the lot we've been given in our lives and mine, unfortunately, has been to rein you in for at least the summer. If you manage to outlast the ton for just one more season, you can come back to New York and try to find this vagrant you're so fond of if you so wish. If he hasn't gotten himself killed or run off after duping some poor soul, you can let yourself fall right into his trap if it makes you happy.”

As much as she wished to remain steadfast, she could feel her confidence slipping. Something like that couldn't be _true_. Hugh was soft and loving and hesitant when he kissed her. He hid nothing of the darkness in his life from her. He was open and caring and nothing about him suggested that he was a _con man_. He sought to protect her at every turn, he sought only to make her more comfortable...but...was that not what Howard spoke of?

_No, no, no. He's a good man and a wonderful Omega._

By his own admission, he was not so noble. By his own words, he told her not to create any such an image of him in her mind. But if he were _truly_ a swindler, would he insist that she withhold that sort of judgment? She couldn't help it. He had saved her from the group of Betas that had hounded her that night. He had taken her to a house of ill repute for a lovely game of whist with women of dubious moral character who had not treated her as if she were made of glass—how everyone else around her seemed to act. With Hugh and the others at the taverns, she was spoken to as a comrade—as a friend. She was given a chance to be herself with him and such a thing could never be _bad_ , could it?

She cast her eyes to the floor and lamented, “I've no way to write him. No way to tell him to wait for me.”

Howard rolled his eyes and she could tell he was inwardly groaning. “If he's left you no method to reach him, then he cannot have been terribly serious about you, could he?”

_...you can find me at the Muir if ye look hard enough._

Her heart gave a hard flutter in her chest and she gritted her teeth, itching to run straight out the door. He _had_ given her the means to find him. She _could_ tell him to wait for her. She hastily told Howard goodnight and gave him a curtsy before she left him, formulating her plot even as she was tapping up the stairs.

* * *

Of course, true to his typically conservative style, Howard had his footmen follow her, dutiful to the end in keeping her reined. For days, she wrote out small notes, hoping that she would finally manage to escape to the Muir even if it was just to pass on the small missive (once it was perfect, of course) to one who would assure her that Hugh would receive it. She could not manage to send any notes, for the servants would read them before they ever made it out of the house and of course, Howard would have been notified of the potential scandal immediately. She endured long dinners, barely speaking, her thoughts ever more distracted and ever more cynical of her ability to send word to Hugh of her eventual freedom.

One season. That's all she needed to survive. She grew increasingly irate. It was just that it was so terribly _boring_ to spend all of her time with Betas. Mild, temperate, misunderstanding _Betas_ who meant well, surely, but could not know her the way that the Omegas at the Rabbit knew her. How Hugh and Jolene and Jodie knew her... She would nod in the right places, play the piano forte when her mother requested it, and she would read to them before the fire at nights, pretending at least that she could forget how being _free_ had made her feel. Despite it all, she wasn't sure if Howard was convinced. He did not let up on the subtle watching that the footmen did about her.

Some nights, she would pull open the window in her room and lean on the sill, her eyes searching the empty lawn and squinting into the darkness of the hedges to see if she could find some glimpse of her elusive boxer. Of the fighter who had captured her imagination and her fantasies. Was it so far to claim that he had captured her heart? If he had cared for her in the same way that she cared for him, surely he would be at her window, tossing pebbles at the glass until she could open up and run away with him like some kind of fairy tale princess. Surely. _Surely_.

But all it had taken for him to never come back to her had been the promise that she would be treated fairly. The promise that she would not be abused for having followed him into the darkness of New York to have a heart-pounding adventure of the highest order. _The real New York._ She truly wished that he would not have been so noble.

It had been fourteen days since she had last seen Hugh when Megan Watson, her lovely aunt suggested that they all go out to dinner.

“I've an idea,” she started in the afternoon. “It is so wonderful an afternoon and no doubt that the weather should hold until this evening. Since there are no parties to speak of and no dinners with friends, why do we not dine out tonight? There are plenty of restaurants in town and I'm certain that they would be able to accommodate us, so how about it? Amelia?”

She nodded politely.

“Howard?”

“Whatever you wish, my dear. Where should you like to go?”

Megan tittered pleasantly, “I have fair been itching to have a go at the fare from the Muir, if you'll believe it. It's said to be one of the grandest restaurants in town.”

Howard hummed in approval.

Amelia's heart nearly stopped beating in her chest.

Megan beamed at her, her nostrils flaring at the excited scent that had escaped her. “Well, I think we have a yes from Miss Amelia at least.”

“Yes,” she replied, making her best effort to sound demure. “I've heard much about it, they're building one in London, you see, and I'm quite eager to experience it. I've heard it can be quite...majestic.”

Howard nodded absently, “I understand Mr. Muir's son married a Beta from the ton not too long ago.”

“Oh yes. He married Mr. Penberth in June and it was a beautiful wedding, though it did rain.” She was so nervous to get up to change her clothes that she almost began to fidget. The hours that passed with small talk of the past season and of the matches made made her even more anxious and when her mother finally got up, she stood like a shot and practically ran up the stairs, dressing with fervor and bouncing in her seat so much so that the maid sent to do her hair was huffy by the end of the task.

The night was mild so she donned a light shawl and they took the open carriage, the horses clipping their way over the streets until they were all four dropped off at the large, ornate golden doors that suddenly put her in a slight awe. Perhaps Hugh had simply been lying to her. Was that possible? She could not imagine such a ragged young Omega even flitting about in the background of such a place. Surely he could not be seen walking through the halls of a grand hotel and acting as though he _belonged_ there. Suddenly she harkened back to the words of her uncle. That _commoners_ so often forgot their _place._ She felt a knot in her throat.

The marble floors and the stunning crystal chandelier above them were upon the level of some of the more beauteous of English noble houses and the stained glass décor that littered the entranceway put her in a state of disbelief. Would the London hotel be just as wonderous? She stared at herself in a mirror with a carved cherrywood frame that was impossibly tall, reaching high into an arch under the vaulted ceiling. She was ushered past it into a huge room with multiples of similar chandeliers that glinted soft lamplight over white table clothes and gilt accenting. Barriers of sorts were set to keep diners in relative seclusion and her mind suddenly raced with the possibilities for getting lost among the tables.

After they were seated, she sprung into action.

“Pardon,” she mumbled. “But I seem to have forgotten to go before we left. I must find the watercloset.”

“Oh! I shall go with you,” her mother quipped, smiling.

“Don't worry yourself, mother, I know where it is. Stay here and order for me. You should know what I want and I would hate to keep you all waiting.” She hoped that the words did not sound too contrived but she didn't stay to find out, flitting off before her mother could follow her.

She rounded around one of the walls back toward the entrance and she walked quickly until she found a door that waiters and staff were running in and out of. She waited until the traffic had died down for a moment and then peeked in through the small window in the center of the door, having to stand on her toes in order to see properly through it. There was a tall Alpha giving orders who seemed to be the boss but Hugh was nowhere in sight. If he was a waiter or part of the bustle of the kitchen, surely eventually she would find him—but probably not if she were reduced to waiting and watching through such a tiny window.

She tried to be as unassuming as possible when she slipped into the kitchen, a thousand scents of delectable foods assailing her while the kitchen help worked tirelessly to create their culinary masterpieces.

She couldn't see Hugh. It seemed hopeless. But it had only been less than a minute since she had started looking and he had _said_ that one simply had to look _hard enough_ and—

“What in the world do you think you're doin' in here, Miss?”

The tall Alpha in white who was quite obviously in charge was bending down ever so slightly to speak to her. At least, Amelia thought, she didn't seem angered by her presence.

“Don't you know this is the kitchen? Did you take a wrong turn somewhere, sweeting?”

“Well...no, I...”

The Alpha's nose twitched and she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “Well I'll be damned. I suppose you're looking for a little boxer.”

Her heart could have exploded. She whispered in her shock, “You know him?”

“Come with me, little girl,” she sighed, leading her through the kitchen, ignored by all the employees who were too busy to notice anything that was not their process. When they were shut into a small office, the Alpha turned around and perched herself on a wooden desk that Amelia wasn't sure was made to hold the weight of the impressively large Alpha. “You're looking for Hugh. You've got to be that girl he kissed in the bushes.”

She must have jumped as she'd been startled but the woman didn't give notice.

“I'm Tilly. I'm the manager of this restaurant and I know about everything that's gone on in this hotel for a long time. No worries, Miss, I'm discreet. You're obviously not his usual fare. No wonder he's been hard up for you.”

She found her voice. “Is he...here?”

“Not tonight, little one. Perhaps later but it would be long after you were gone.”

She had not been prepared for that sort of answer. It had been such a long time to wait to get to this point and now he _wasn't even here_. She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration and she huffed at herself, whispering under her breath. “ _Blast it._ ”

Tilly seemed amused. “He told me your uncle reamed him but good for getting caught with you and here you are brave as could be to find him. Going to run off with him into the sunset, little one?”

“Nothing so romantic. At least...not now,” she grumbled. With only a slight hesitation, she reached into her bodice and held the small folded note out to the Alpha. “Can I trust you?”

“To give this to him?”

“Yes.”

Her lips tightened. “I'll do it. But not because I want you to succeed. I don't.”

“Then why?”

Tilly shrugged, her scent consistently calm and even. “Because I respect him. I know what he would want. And if he wants you, I'll not stand in his way. He'll get your love letter and he can decide what he wishes to do with it.”

“Alright...” she breathed. “Good.”

The Alpha snatched the note from Amelia's fingers and tapped it down into her breast pocket, the two of them staring at each other in a small, awkward silence before she got up, the desk creaking in relief as she did so, and escorted Amelia out of the kitchen, scooting her along with a soft push to her back down the hallway.

She made it back to their table with the realization that she had not been gone very long at all and there was not a single shred of curiosity held among the three Betas who'd waited for her. At least she'd been somewhat successful. Now the fate of her small missive was in the hands of an Alpha that she _thought_ was trustworthy enough. She glanced at Howard, wondering still about the words that he had said.

How could such a wonderful, kind, unassuming man seem so dangerous to a Beta like Howard? Though, she noted. Howard knew Vega Kowalczyk. The extent of their acquaintance was unknown to her but _that_ Alpha was dangerous and from what Amelia knew of her uncle, with such an example, it was perhaps only so easy to spot dangerous men. But dangerous Omegas? She had never before seen something of the like in her life.

Though, she thought suddenly as her wine glass was filled with a delicious-looking Merlot, there had been no denying the attraction she'd had toward Cyril Muir when he'd danced with her and flaunted his exotic and teasingly wicked manner. By all accounts, there wasn't much difference between the way Hugh had treated her and the way Cyril had, the both of them hesitant to breach an invisible barrier. One that she was certain to butt up against soon. Perhaps in a little less than a year.

She frowned at herself and took a determined gulp of her wine.

_We shall see who is the more dangerous Omega._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. So. The boyfriend thinks that it doesn't matter that we liked Howard previously; he's scum now, and I think he's a victim of his time (and his environment) and he's just trying his best and accidentally being a dick about it. What's everyone else think? Is Howard a dick or is he just being a 'parent'?


	8. Chapter 8

His fingers were clasped behind his head and he lounged among the plush satin pillows while a cigarette dangled from his bottom lip. He might have been able to sleep if his damned nest wasn't all mucked up but when one was romping around with an absolute barbarian who had no respect for such delicate matters, lacking in sleep due to the anxiety it caused was inevitable. He would let the savage sleep for a little while before he kicked him out.

As if somehow cognizant of Hugh's thoughts, Wyatt opened his eyes with a flutter and made a soft mewl, brushing the backs of his fingers over Hugh's chest before he purred and cuddled closer.

“You've the softest bed. Elias likes to think he does but nothing compares to _this_ luxury.”

He puffed on his cigarette. “Enjoy it while it lasts, I'm about ta throw ye out into the cold.”

“After all that? I can't at least stay until dawn? You're going to toss me out on my ass before my come's even dried on the sheets?”

“Don't be such a pansy about it.”

Wyatt trailed his fingertips downward, under the sheets and the counterpane. Hugh caught his wrist and held it up.

“I said...don't be such a damned pansy about it. Ye've done yer piece, I've got an arse full of ye, now go pester someone else afore I have the bellhops come and take ye out by force.”

“God,” Wyatt sighed, sitting up and whipping the covers off of his naked body, “What's got a bee in your bonnet? You should be in a right fair mood what with my fuckin' you so good. How can you still be sour?” He stood up and grumbled under his breath. “ _Bloody_ _Catholics._ ”

“Say again?” Hugh asked with a potent glare.

“Nothin'.”

His voice lowered with warning. “I don't think it was nothin', boy.”

The other boxer pulled on his pants, his scent altering toward annoyance with just the slightest tinge of fear. It was a rare aroma and one that put Hugh on edge. Wyatt quickly put on the rest of his clothes and he grumbled just loud enough for Hugh to hear him. “I just mean...you're all so damned guilty all the time.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Wyatt turned to him and put a hand through his short, ruffled hair while Hugh took his time to sit up and reposition the pillows and blankets on his bed. “What it means is that you don't have to be so blasted sorry for everything all the time. Why don't you find that girl? She's who you're upset about, isn't she? Isn't that why you damn near killed that big fella, Jordy at your last match? You might have made Hawk a happy woman but you could have pulled those punches at the end, you know. You crushed his eye socket, Hugh. What if it had been me? Would you have caved in my damned face too?”

“Of course not,” he mumbled, dropping the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray on the night stand.

“I don't believe you, Hugh.”

“Do what ye will. She's out o' me reach. I'll 'ave to come te terms with it sooner or later and if it takes a few sandbags or a few brawlers to do it, I'll take the wins as they come.”

“And what, the next man who gets in the ring with you is just out of luck? What about Elias? What about Addison? What about _me_?”

Hugh settled back into his nest, content with the next positions. “Why don't ye go piss off?”

“For Christ's sake.”

“I can't make ye any promises about how I'm going ta hit ye. But I'm not going to _lose_ to ye just because ye've got the willies that I might kill ye.” He rolled his eyes. “Bedding some _gal_ isn't going to make me any kinder to ye in the ring, I hope ye know that.”

“You've been a mess for two weeks.”

“I 'ave not.”

Wyatt made a slight exasperated scream with his muscles tensed and his fists in balls at his sides. “Let's see! You nearly threw a swing at Carmon _twice_ as if your death wish could get any closer to becoming fulfilled _._ You tossed Elias back on his ass for his asking you if he might get Miss Watson's address. And you told Hawk in front of everyone that if she was going to be such a bitch about everything, she might as well just spread her legs for you to _fuck_ her! I've never seen an Alpha so damned embarrassed. And I thought _Carmon_ was going to kill you! Miss Hawk's got the rights to that, I'm starting to think!”

Hugh felt something pop in his gut and he sat up and shot back, “Maybe, if she didn't want me to suggest that I fuck her, she should be a little bit less of a bloody _cunt_.”

“You are absolutely impossible.”

“I hope I am. That's how I know I'm not a mess. Now get out of here!”

“Gladly!” Wyatt shouted back, whipping open the door to the outer suite only to reel back in shock when he was faced with Tilly's massive form in the door frame. His hand shot to his heart as he gasped and staggered backwards.

To Hugh's amusement, Tilly's brow was arched and her hands upon her hips, disapproval wafting in through her pleasant, leathery scent. The key he'd given her to his suite was dangling from her fingers near her hip. Her voice was low and calming, a coo of sorts while she moved her attention deeper into the room toward where Hugh still lay in bed.

“I apologize for barging my way in, little one, but I heard some shouting and I wanted to make sure you were alright...” She shifted her eyes toward Wyatt again and then back to Hugh. “You _are_ alright...?”

“I'm fine, Tilly, but ye might 'ave given Wyatt here a bit of a scare.”

“I apologize for that as well then, I hope it's all been straightened?”

Wyatt regained his bearings, his face pink. “I was just on me way out, Alpha. I'm sorry for the trouble. I-I...I was...it was nothing.”

Tilly's mouth quirked. “No harm done then.” She stepped aside and motioned for Wyatt to pass her and after he left, she ducked through the doorway. “I suppose when you're as pugnacious as you are, you're bound to have some quarrels with your lovers. Save the toffers, of course.” She winked at him, her scent suddenly all around him. He'd never had her in his bedroom before and to have her, an _Alpha,_ so close to his nest was a tad unnerving. He stamped down the feeling into nothing and hid it away inside himself.

“The gals are much less suited toward confrontations,” he explained. “It was nothin', truly.”

“I heard enough of it to know it wasn't. You _have_ been a bit out of sorts.”

He growled at her. “Who asked ye?”

She sighed, leaning up against the wall next to the door and crossing her arms. She was huge and the sight of her in his bedroom was much different than the sight of her anywhere else. In the restaurant she was just tall, often flitting about among other Alpha customers or vendors, her size somewhere in the back of his mind. Here, she was massive and being alone with her sparked in him an instinctual anxiety. She was powerful. She was in control. More so than Hawk could ever hope to be. But her voice, she kept low.

“I have a confession,” she said as she scratched the side of her head. “I go out of my way to know you and I try to make conversation because I think you're a right handsome fellow. I'm not a very good Alpha, if I'll be honest.”

Hugh frowned. “That's not true.”

She cast him a grimace. “If I were any decent Alpha, I'd have bowled you right over and taken what I wanted from you. I would have claimed you months ago.”

He felt his face heat and his muscles tense as alertness prickled in his blood. Immediately, he started thinking of how he might escape if her passive scent was somehow misleading him.

“But,” she continued, “I'm not a very good Alpha. And you're a different sort of Omega. You're not the type to get romanced by some cock-sure idiot who thinks they know everything there is to know about Omegas. Nobody knows Omegas. Except...that is... _Omegas_.” She took in a breath and gave another big sigh. “You're not interested in Alphas because there's no way in the world that one of us could ever understand what makes your gears click together.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little scrap of parchment that had been neatly folded. “And I get it. I met her.”

He perked. “You...met who?”

“Your girl.” Tilly took the three steps to his bed and held out the note. “She's smitten with you, I think.”

He took it but didn't open it, staring at it like it was some kind of ancient artifact. A foreign thing that didn't make any sense to him. “But...”

“Are you going to be looking a gift horse in the mouth, little one? Open the damned thing and be happy she wrote you at all.”

He swallowed. “But her uncle was right, Tilly. I can't...if I open it, I'll open it all up again and I can't do that to her. Or te myself.” Howard had laid it all out so damnably clear and once he'd given all of his reasons, it was as though someone had cast a match over spilled oil. Even if he couldn't compromise her, she could be ruined from scandal anyhow. If he were a debutante, perhaps they would look the other way. If he were from a prominent family, even just a _good_ family, it could be chalked up to youthful exploration. But who he was? Hugh. Just Hugh. No family name that he could claim anymore...he was nobody.

“If you don't read it, I will,” Tilly threatened.

He clutched it to his chest, giving her a reproachful glance before he let the whole situation rattle about in his mind. “I can't be anything to her, Tilly. She's as far away from me as the damned prince.”

She leaned down, looming over him suddenly, her scent heavy around him. “Listen to me, you foolish little imp of an Omega, if you don't open that blasted letter _right this instant_ , I'll hold you down and claim you so you can quit your agonizing over the whole situation and the rest of us can stop walking on eggshells about you.”

Without taking his wide, shocked eyes from her, he felt his numbed fingers begin unfolding the letter. When it was open in his lap, he wrenched his gaze from her and stared down at it, forcing himself to read it several times in order to process what she'd written him.

_“Ple_ _ó_ _id air.”_

“What?” Tilly asked.

“She's...she's tellin' me te _wait_ for her. Like some silly romantic _fairytale._ ” He let out an incredulous laugh and, without thinking, left his bed.

Tilly whirled about immediately, her scent and her stiff posture betraying her instant and abject embarrassment at having glimpsed his nudity.

“Don't be such a git,” he chided as he found his trousers and pulled them on, “All of ye damned Alphas act as though ye've never railed an Omega before. As if ye've never seen one without any o' their damned clothes on.”

“Forgive me,” Tilly managed, still unwilling to turn back around. “There's hope then? For Miss Watson?”

“She wants me to tell her that I will! O'course she'd want a wee bit of assurance that she's not goin' te come back to New York after the season to find I've abandoned her.” His mind was racing and he picked up the note again, lifting it to his nose to find it saturated with her lovely fragrance, a part of her that he would never forget for the rest of his days. If he had to wait a year, so be it. He would wait for her a thousand years if there was even a shred of hope that she might be his.

“What happened to the girl being as far from you as the prince?”

“Her uncle's said she can do as she will if she lasts one more season and is unmarried. And, I don't know about the rest of ye, but I'm willing to bet on the gal.” He glanced down at the note again and read it aloud. “'If ye're still interested in me, please tie a bit o' ribbon about the fence near the front gate so that I might see it when I walk about the garden in the mornin'.' That's what she says. I just need a bit o' ribbon and I'll—”

“Hugh,” Tilly interrupted, finally turned about to face him, “You've got to be mad to do all of this for this girl.”

“Mad as a dog,” he agreed, pulling on his flat cap. “I'd invite ye to come with me but you're not allowed at Miss Molly's.”

Tilly started as if she'd been hit. “Why in the devil would you be going to Miss Molly's? You already stink of sex and you're in love with some flighty English virgin—”

Hugh rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic and put-upon sigh. “ _Because I don't own any goddamned ribbon, ye bloody ijit._ ”

“Oh...”

“Lock up on your way out,” he told her while he flitted out the door.

* * *

Tilly had said something to him that had made him incredibly uncomfortable but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly she had mentioned and why exactly it had caused him such a horribly unsettled feeling. Some kind of nameless and palpable discomfort was offsetting everything and causing him to have the sensation of existing on a tilt. As if everything he had ever known about himself was suddenly on an angle and shifted into something he couldn't possibly fathom. Or couldn't have fathomed before now.

_You're in love with some flighty English virgin._

That was it. She had told him that he was in love. Love wasn't possible. It wasn't probable. It wasn't something he'd ever thought that he could feel in his life. Love was one of those things that happened to stupid people who couldn't help but fall into the fires of desperation. Passion was one thing. He could feel plenty of that and it was something that was not off-limits to those with wit and confidence but love? That was something that could bleed through the scent of any Omega—any Alpha even. It was a smell that was overt and impossible to stomp down into their stone boxes that they hid away near their hearts. It was something that many of the others probably wouldn't have recognized if they'd smelled it and it was something that even he thought he might not have been able to decipher. But Tilly, with her impeccable nose and her keen sense of emotion—she would know. He trusted her. Especially after what else she'd told him. What she'd confessed. He knew she wouldn't lead him astray.

He walked onward with those thoughts tumbling over the waterfall of his mind and he kept his eyes on the street and at the toes of his boots. The night was chilly and there was a mist rising from the warm ground around him, coating the streets and the darkness with an eerie diffused glow made strange and dissonant with the light from the gas lamps. He felt a welling anxiety in his chest as he walked and he quickened his pace toward the dark wooden door of Miss Molly's. When he opened it, he breathed a sigh of relief, closing the door heavily behind him as if there were some sort of monster that had been following him through the mist and it was shut out by the safety of this place.

He wandered into the parlor to find Molly in a gorgeous green gown, fanning herself as she leaned on the settee with Miss Abigail sitting next to her reading from some book of poetry. Stopping before Miss Abby noticed him, he sat on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs and listened to the blonde's lyrical voice until she was finished and peered up at him over the pages. Her greeting was breathy and refined.

“Good evening, Hugh.”

Miss Molly cracked her eye at him and grinned. “I knew I detected a wastrel in my midst. Are you not sated enough for tonight? You smell as if you've already had your fun. Or perhaps another game of whist. Where is your companion?”

“That is precisely what I've come about,” he explained. “I need to have a ribbon and, as you must know, I have none. Where to get a ribbon at such a time of night when all the shops are closed? Well?” He opened his arms to gesture at her establishment. “I've come to the only place I can count upon.”

“Miss Watson needs a ribbon?”

“I cannot properly explain,” he stated. “But I think I...” He stopped.

_I think I'm in love with her._

He swallowed.

“Ah,” Miss Molly smiled, sitting up. “Miss Abigail, why don't you go up to your room and find Hugh a ribbon? One that you might not use anymore. I don't think he means to borrow it.”

“I promise you,” Hugh said, putting a hand into his pockets, “Whatever it'll cost, I'll pay it.”

Miss Abby smiled, her cheeks pink. “No need, Hugh. You can have a ribbon from me. I'll not charge you for it. It will be my gift to you. And to Miss Watson. Miss Jolene told me that she was quite the gentlewoman. Stately and kind.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “Can't tell ye whatever she'd want to do with me...”

Miss Abby stood and brushed off her skirts. “Oh...I think I know...” She left it at that and disappeared, returning shortly with a length of pink ribbon that she gave him without hesitation.

“I can't tell ye how much this means to me,” he breathed, capturing her hand before she could draw it away.

She bubbled over with a soft giggle. “Think nothing of it. Truly. If it makes you happy, Hugh.”

Miss Molly, still lazily fanning herself, closed her eyes and leaned back again. “The bounder will find a way to make himself happy. No need to wish it for him. Perhaps Miss Watson will find some way to keep him out of trouble. Settle him down. Make him into an honest Omega.”

“Don't get me hopes up,” he chided her, fluttering nervousness awakening every warm feeling in his guts. To be honest, he wasn't sure of Miss Watson's intentions toward him and it put an edge onto his nervousness. What should he expect from the pretty miss? She wanted him for a lover, that was obvious enough but would she want more from him? She could have any boxer, any servant, she could have anyone she wanted as a lover. Why wait another season for _him_? There was only one answer to that and he was hoping he was right even as he was wracked with nervousness. Maybe she was in love with him too.

With this thought in his head, tinkering around with the rest, he left Miss Molly's and began the short walk down the misty streets to Howard Watson's front gate. The night was uncommonly quiet and the only sound he could hear was the muffled clip-clopping of a distance carriage in the dark.

How could she love him? He was nothing to her. Just someone who was dangerous and mysterious. The thought almost made him stop in his tracks. She would tire of him eventually. She would see that he could not provide her with the furs and riches and houses that the Alphas of the ton could give her and she would change her mind...

 _But to hold her just once would be worth it,_ he reminded himself and without a falter in his steps, he continued on his path, the sound of his boots crunching over the cobble accompanying the ever-present crush of thoughts running through his head.

He could see the house looming through the dark and the mist, lit by the greenish glow of the gaslight and shrouded in the eerie fog. It was just a few yards from him and he touched the place in his pocket where the ribbon remained safe. He would have to loop it and tie it without being detected by any of the footmen who were on guard, if there still were any. He swallowed again.

_You're in love with a flighty English virgin._

He frowned at himself and felt his lips draw flat across his face.

 _Yes,_ he thought. _Yes I am._

It was the last thought he would have before the black bag came down over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh nooooooooooooooooo. Huuuuuuuuuugh. This was bound to happen, Hugh's made too many people mad. But... _who was it?!_ I've set up an impressive list of suspects to choose from so if anyone wants to take a stab at who's kidnapped Hugh, you're welcome to guess. He's got a laundry list of enemies.
> 
> I deeply appreciate that anyone is reading this, I know O/O isn't popular to begin with but M/F + O/O has to be one of those "wait, what?" scenarios.
> 
> Any comments, questions, or concerns, please feel free to state them. I really do appreciate them. Also come visit me on Tumblr, send me headcanons or chat about writing: [J.D. Writes](https://jdwrites.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

It was amazing how much time could get skewed if one was locked into a dark room. Even when they dragged him out threw him into a ring to beat him until he could no longer stand, he was still underground. He hadn't seen the sun in some time. Must have been a few days at the very least. Everything hurt. Everything was sore. He hadn't been too bloody surprised to find himself with a black bag over his face but he _had_ been surprised to find out who'd been the bastard that done it. It wasn't exactly something that Maddie, with his meager amount of brains, was bound to cook up but there he'd been taking off the bag and promptly punching Hugh straight in the nose. There were a few others, some Hugh recognized and some he didn't. No Alphas.

He wondered how many days he'd been held and how long they planned to keep him. The whole time of it, he hadn't been able to tune out the damned _barking_. Whoever had the damned dogs should have just put them right out of their misery. They barked _so much_ and the damned place stunk to high heaven of their nasty little hides. He'd been able to withstand much of what they threw at him but it was only a matter of time before he couldn't handle any more. Subsisting on bread crusts and meat scraps, he could feel himself weaken as the hours pressed on and with every hit they laid upon him and every jeer they threw, he faded further.

He wasn't as prideful as Cyril. He couldn't fight to the very last if that's what they'd expected of him. It had been half of what he'd wanted anyhow. To slip away. To be nothing. To hope that he could somehow even just at least beg for mercy at St. Peter's gate... He would rather that than most things they could do to him.

The heavy bolt on the wooden door slid open and he waited, laying on the floor curled against the cold stone. Like every other time, he was dragged out into a straw-filled ring, his bare feet sliding over damp, mildewed rushes. He was dropped in the middle and he put his arms over his head and curled into a small ball, knowing full well that they would stomp his ribs until they cracked and kick at his back until he lost all of his breath. They couldn't force him to stand. They had tried a few times but his sense of pride, though prickled, was not enough to make him fight a losing battle.

He whispered to himself, waiting for the first of the blows to come. “ _Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh, anois, agus ar uair ár mbáis._ ”

“A little prayer for your soul, Hugh?” Maddie asked, his Omega scent tickling Hugh's nose with its powerful hint of smugness. “You might need it. You know, I hadn't thought about killin' ya. Just meant to rough you up a bit. Teach you a few lessons about the way you ought to speak to me. But you know, if your Alpha found out about any of this—”

“I don't have an Alpha,” he growled from where he lay.

“You've got Hawk.”

“A nitwit if I e'er saw one,” he spat with vehemence.

“Nevertheless. She can't find out. And I thought for a moment that I knew that you weren't going to be telling anyone but now I'm not so certain. I mean, you've been missing a fair number of days and if your body just happened to float up in a river somewhere and your belly were full of whiskey, I don't know if anyone would care to look into that too much, what do you think?”

“I think ye'll 'ave a devil of a time getting me te drink enough to convince them.”

“Oh I don't think so. The police don't like your kind too much, do they, Hugh? I don't think there's anyone who'll be very surprised to find your bloated corpse.”

His hold over his head loosened and he went slack. “Fine,” he sighed, tired of every moment he was still breathing. The glow in his heart flickered when he thought of the ribbon still tucked safe in his pocket and the little miss who'd likely been terribly disappointed in him. But who hadn't he disappointed in his life? His Da. His Oma. His priest. Bazaretti. Tilly. _Amelia_. Oh Lord, it hurt the worst to think of her. It hurt to know that she likely wouldn't even know he'd died. The paper wouldn't even identify him, likely. _Paddy Drowned in Booze Fished from East River._

The amount of force that was used by the two brutes Maddie employed to hold him up was entirely unnecessary. As slack as he made himself, it should have been easy for them to arrange him so he was sitting up without knocking him all over the goddamned place. Of course, if something was easy, it didn't seem as if they could handle the responsibility of it. One of them took it upon himself to hold Hugh's mouth open while the other pinched his nose shut. When Maddie began pouring rye whiskey straight into his throat, he felt himself choke but at least the blasted fool would get what he wanted in the end. He was forced to swallow every bit that he couldn't cough up, his shoulders trembling and his body jerking in a kind of instinctual panic that set in when he couldn't breathe properly. Every few moments, he could get in a burning gasp around the stream of amber but for the most part, he was about to get absolutely fucking _pickled._

“Fitting,” Maddie chuckled as he dumped the rest of the bottle into Hugh's mouth and watched him struggle to swallow it. “Perhaps we'd best let you pass out before we dump you into the river. With most of a bottle of swill in your gut, it'll be open and shut.”

“ _Piss off_ ,” he choked.

Maddie slapped him, letting loose a spray of whiskey that had soaked his cheeks and chin. “You're _disgusting_ , you little Irish _rat._ You're a scourge on this city, I hope you know. This is _our_ city and I'll not see you dirty, defiling _snappers_ take it from us. I know what you and the rest of them do with those _politicians_ in your pockets!”

He wanted to take a swing but he was held fast.

Maddie's voice lowered and he growled dangerously. “Maybe just one of your kind dead on the banks won't make much of a difference but at least I'll feel better for seeing it.” He looked up at the men who held him. “Take him out to the docks and dump him. Make sure he doesn't come up.”

It was just like him to fall in love and then end it all like this. It was just his lot in life to have been an Irish wastrel with no future and no past. To die as anonymously as he lived. Hugh. Not even that anymore. Not even that after they found him dead on the muddy bank as a drunkard and a waste of an Omega with no Alpha who'd come to claim his body. As far as he'd been concerned, he'd been dead for years, it was just that he hadn't quite known it yet.

_It's true isn't it, Lord? I've been walkin' this Earth for ye to teach me a lesson and I've seen it time and time again. I 'aven't had the pride me Da warned me of but I've had enough to sin and sin well and here is three quarters a bottle of humility poured right down my throat. Help me to come to ye without any of it lingering anywhere in my heart. I've got nothin' left in me. I can't fight ye anymore. I've been stubborn against ye. If the cold water is how I come to the dark or the light, I 'ope ye can find it in yerself te forgive me. Please take me, Lord and do what ye will with me. My name is Hugh McCowell and I've got no excuse for myself._

He felt his head loll to the side as he was forced to stand on shaking and weak legs, held up mostly by the power of the men who'd kill him. His bare feet couldn't find true purchase on the rushes beneath him and he slipped, losing more and more of himself to the whiskey by the second.

“ _Lord_ ,” he mumbled, his lips going numb from drink and his ears ringing, “ _please take care of Amelia. Please take care of my gal. I...I love her, Lord, even if ye don't like it._ ” He thought he was smiling while the world spun around him as he was half-dragged toward the side of the ring. Saliva pooled in his mouth and then ran out over his chin. “ _I love her,_ ” he croaked before he felt a well of pure whiskey burn up from his stomach and spurt out from the back of his throat. “ _I love...her..._ ”

* * *

There had been no ribbon. She had looked for it in the morning and then passed by around noon to peer through the window again. Around four in the afternoon she had looked for it. Evening, she took a stroll about the gardens and made a point to wander the circumference of the property to look at every spike on the fence. No ribbons. She thought, perhaps, he was busy the first day. But the second was no different and her enthusiasm began to falter. Perhaps he had not received the note, she had thought. But that simply wasn't true. She knew it. She knew it from the way the Alpha had looked at her. Tilly. She knew it by the honesty she heard in the woman's voice and the consigned manner that she had held while agreeing to the deed. She had done it. Hugh had gotten her note. He simply hadn't cared enough to comply with her request.

It was a foreign emotion. She was not prone to melancholy. She had a strong constitution when it came to such things and to feel as though someone had suddenly torn at her heart was utterly horrifying. She felt it slowly tearing as the days continued and hope of seeing a small symbol of his affections dwindled into nothing.

“Good God,” her mother screeched while she came into the parlor where Amelia was sitting alone, staring out the window with an unfinished embroidery project in her lap. “It _stinks_ in here. I don't know what's got you so upset, Amelia, but this has _got_ to _end_.” She moved to the window that was nearest her and opened it, letting in the sunshine and a breeze. It had been four days. Four days after he had gotten her note and he was not coming. It was enough to make another twang in her chest. “ _Please_ ,” her mother pleaded. “Get control over your emotions. I can't imagine what in the world should have you so! Fickle creatures, all of you, I say!” She flitted about the room and opened up every window she could manage to reach. “If your mood cannot lighten, sharing the cabin back to England with you is going to be a horrid bit of a nightmare, that is for certain.”

“Back to England?” she asked, surprised. “But it has only been...”

“Enough time to get what we needed. Howard suggested that you seemed a bit homesick and I'm certain he must be right with the way you've been stinking up his house! No wonder he doesn't want you here, you smell like a bunch of dead roses.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, turning her head back out toward the sunshine.

“Have it your way. He's going to see us off tomorrow and we'll be back to the estate and back to planning for your next season. If your odious cousin and his deviant valet stay out of the way, we just might be able to see you married yet.”

She didn't look at her mother and in fact closed her eyes and mused to herself. “What in the world could you find so horribly offensive about Cuthbert? He's been nothing but lovely to you our whole stay at the estate.”

“He's a pervert, lusting after a man in such a way.”

“And if Nathan were an Omega?”

“He is an Alpha male,” she explained, her voice flustered. A small poof met Amelia's ears as a signal that she had finally chosen a seat, the air puffing out of her skirts. “Nathan is an Alpha and Cuthbert is a Beta. Their interactions with each other are against _nature_. Not to mention they are wholly inappropriate for a Master and a servant.”

“And if I were against nature?”

“Once your Alpha puts his hands upon you during your heat, you will think yourself silly for having ever suggested it.”

“I don't intend on having an Alpha.”

Her mother gave a small gasp. “You are going to be the death of me, you wretched little thing.”

She ignored the statement. It was a sentiment that she had heard too many times to take seriously in the slightest and sometimes, God help her, she wished it would be true. On one hand, she didn't want to leave New York. She wanted to make certain that she was right about Hugh...right about his abandonment, she thought. Perhaps what Howard said had been true...

_Pish posh. But either that or the other possibility—that he thought he knew what was best for me—he still doesn't want to see me again. Or doesn't think he ever will._

She stood suddenly and wandered out of the room, her wilted scent following her as she left through the front door. In the windless afternoon, it hovered about her as a cloud of sour emotion and she wasn't surprised to hear Howard's slight cough as he approached her through it. He was the last person she wished to talk to so when he greeted her politely, she ignored him entirely, curling her fingers upon the iron posts of the gate and staring off into nothing as if she had never even heard him.

“I hope you'll understand one day,” he sighed. “A broken heart is the least you'll have to suffer and it won't last forever. You had to know that it was only temporary. It could only ever have _been_ temporary.”

“Agency, Howard,” she sniffed. “Agency is what any Omega craves. I knew. But I am never given _choice_ in anything. Least of all things that have to deal with my own happiness. I could have ended things but I would have ended them _my way_. I would have been gentle with myself.”

“And him? Is that fair him?”

“What do you care?” she spat. “You think him a worthless scoundrel. Is fairness what you thought when you scolded me about grifters?”

“Admittedly, no.”

She turned her face to look at him properly and frowned at him. “You've all been quite brutish. I suppose I shall see you tomorrow when I head back home. I believe I'll take supper in my room. Good night, Uncle.”

His voice was soft and consigned. “Goodnight, Amelia.”

She ate alone, sitting by the window and staring out of it toward the back garden, hoping that she might see a flash of him in the fading sunlight. That he might crawl over the fence and invite her to run away with him. Something fanciful. Something that only happened to princesses locked in fantasy towers.

Late into the night, as the inky black of the moonless sky spread out as far as she could see over the city, she fell asleep and dreamed of nothing.

* * *

There were fingers gently running through his hair. For about half a second, he thought he might have opened his eyes to find himself finally _home_. His eyes rolled when they opened, as if begging for him to keep them lidded. He forced himself to focus, wherever he was was dim and warm and he was piled with thick blankets and there was an Alpha next to him. He wanted to speak but his mouth felt swollen and lethargic. Pain came to him in segments. First he felt his head—shrieking with a headache. Then he felt his neck and shoulders, aching as a constant. His ribs hurt with every shallow breath he pulled in and his stomach muscles felt strained and over-used. Every part of him hurt in some form or another. Every piece of him was alive with the oppressive weight of fatigue and it took him forever to work up to turning his head slightly, groaning against the pain, to look at the Alpha that was radiating heat next to him.

“Hhhhh...” he breathed, his eyes lidding halfway and losing their focus. “Hawww...”

“Shhhh,” she told him, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his brow. “Don't use the energy. I know you'll want to be snappy when you're alright again but now's not the time. The doc's been to see ya. You've got a few cracked ribs and you're a sight to see, for certain, but he said if ya woke up, you'd likely recover.” Her tone was filled with warm appreciation. “I knew you'd make it. You bricky idiot.”

“Nnngh.”

“I know,” she murmured, carding her fingers through his hair again. “I'd like you to know I was angry at you the whole time you were missing. I thought you'd run away with that girlfriend of yours. I was furious.” She sighed through her nose. “You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry.”

He laughed but it sounded more like a cough and when he breathed in again, he wheezed and wonder if he ever had made it into the East River. He felt dry. His lungs didn't burn.

_What time is it? What day is it?_

He slowly moved his hand to his pocket and felt the lump of ribbon still tucked safe away. He could still make it. Somehow, he could still make it to tell her that he loved her. If she hadn't given up on him, he could put the ribbon on the gate and she would see it and everything could be well again. Everything could go back to the way it he hoped it could be. She would come back after her season, unmarried and defiant. She could come to him and he could tuck her away as safe as this ribbon and keep her for as long as she could stand him. If it were for a day, so be it, a week—so be it. He would hold her for as long as she could tolerate him and he would do only his best for her...whatever he could manage.

 _“G_ _o raibh maith agat, Dia,”_ he mumbled, slurring the words until they were almost unintelligible.

Hawk pulled him closer to her, nestling him against her fully clothed body to give him her warmth and the physical comfort of an Alpha. Her hand moved to his nape and she massaged him while he leaned his head into her and slowly tumbled into oblivion.

When he woke again, the room was a fair bit brighter and Hawk was sitting next to him in a chair with her legs crossed, a book in one hand and a muffin in the other. She looked up at the small movement of his head and shut her book, setting it down while she reached over to a bedside table and picked up another muffin.

“You should munch on something,” she told him matter-of-factly, “It'll help you with your stomach. You've been in and out for the past day or so and you've got to eat something or you'll run out of strength before you can recover.” She broke off a chunk of the sweet bread and put it to his lips, urging him to eat it. Over the course of a few minutes, she had fed him the whole thing and had allowed him to slowly sip upon a glass of water until that was entirely gone as well.

He lay there for a while, staring at her while she arranged the items on the nightstand and settled back into her chair, her hair drawn back into a messy bun and her scent a muddled mixture of underlying worry and simmering, blatant relief.

His voice was no more than a croak when he tried to speak to her. “H-Hawk...”

“ _For the love of it all,_ ” she broke, trembling a little, “I'm sorry! Alright?! I'm sorry I didn't look hard enough for you! I thought you were just being a little piece of _shit!_ ” The wave of her regret was stifling and it nearly made his eyes water.

He blinked slowly. “Nothin' wrong with that, Alpha. I _am_ a little piece o' shit.”

She sighed and dropped her head into her hands and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. “I wasted so much time and you were half dead when Carmon brought you in...”

“Carmon?”

She raised her head again to look at him. “Yeah...awful luck for Maddie and them but Carmon had forgotten something at the Briar House and they was draggin' you out the back of the kennel where they fight the dogs. From what he said, it was fair clear to him that they was trying to put you down.”

He brought his hand up and rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, unsurprised to find his hand and fingers sore. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't aching. “Maddie.”

“I know,” she told him. “My father and I already spoke to his Alpha.”

“I 'ope he's got a few waps for it,” Hugh sighed toward the ceiling. “Ye think ye've got a man figured and ye think ye've got it all out in the ring afore he stabs ye in the back for yer born country and the God ye've prayed te. I thought, at firs' that 'e was jus mad about near losin' 'is tongue. Then he's off about _politics_ and all that.”

Hawk snorted, unable to keep her face straight with his incredulous tone. “You've got to be the oddest little Omega, do you know that?”

“And ye've got to be the sorriest Alpha.” He frowned. “Wait...'ow did ye know about Amelia? I've ne'er said much about 'er.”

Hawk rolled her eyes, “When you didn't show up at the gym, I went about and asked at the Muir at risk of getting my head torn clean off by your damned Alpha there. The brute could have caved in my damned skull when I was askin' about you. She said you might have been running off with some girl or what-have-you. I can't tell you how furious I was.”

She didn't have to tell him, it was written all over her face and present in her scent how regretful she'd come to be after finding out that it wasn't the case. He looked around himself again, gaining strength with every moment that passed. “Where am I?”

“Above the gym. I've let some of the boys sleep here if they somehow got kicked out of the tenements for a while.” Her face was pink. “Sometimes they...pay me.”

“Oh, Lord,” he cringed.

“Don't give me that, I know what it takes for them to stay in your suite at the Muir, so don't you dare act self-righteous to me, Omega.”

It was enough to let him button his lip and mostly because it was true. The room was sparse but it would do the job, with enough pillows and blankets to make any nester take their solace, dim even during the day to allow for the maximum amount of time spent sleeping in. Taking a good once-over of the Alpha, he shrugged.

“Better than rollin' about in the gutter, I guess.”

She groaned. “That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Hugh.”

“Don't get bloody used to it.”

“You know,” she replied, “I did help save your fool life. Not to mention I've washed your shirt. I even got all the blood out of it.”

“And my vomit?”

She sniffed, “What do you think I am? Some kind of amateur? I can get vomit out of _anything_. It's blood that'll stain. I suppose I shouldn't tell you that I put your trousers to wash too. Put everything back in your pockets safe and sound. Anyhow, you're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Doc is coming by today again to see about you and make sure you've eaten something. Said you had enough liquor in you to drown a horse. When Carmon brought you, I thought you were just about dead. Your lips were blue and there was a steady stream of the stuff just pouring out of yah.”

He eased himself up with the limited strength in his arms and propped himself with the pillows against the headboard. “And what of Maddie? A slap on the wrist?”

“No,” she smirked. “Carmon's got a way about his own justice. When father and I went to speak to his manager, we got some platitudes and such. Carmon was a fair bit more brutal in his approach. He's been spinning your odds for too long to let some idiot dump you into a river without his say-so.”

“And the boys with him?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh, I 'ope I fight the son o' bitches. I'm goin' te dig their fucking graves in the ring.”

Hawk smiled warmly. “Sorry to say, Hugh, but you're too weak to fight for a while. We're going to have to get some of your strength back before we can let you back into a ring. Doc says you've got a bunch of cracked ribs and you can't take any punches for a few months.”

“ _Months_ ,” he breathed, lifting his fingers to his ribs and studying the places where it hurt the most when he took in deeper lungfuls. It was a sharp and unforgiving sort of pain and he grimaced at it. “I suppose I'm useless to ye, then. One or two broken ribs is all well and good for us but...”

“You've broken nine or more of 'em if the doc's to be trusted.”

“And I hope Carmon breaks every fucking one of Maddie's,” he spat. “I'd no idea he hated us so badly.”

“Us?”

“Me. My kind, ye know.”

“Oh.” She snorted. “Must have been a kick in the teeth to get whalloped by a little _paddy_ , eh?”

He allowed himself to laugh, the movement sending a sharp lancing of pain through his ribs. “Oi, Lord, I've goin' te have a hell of a time getting back te the Muir. I've still got to work if Bazaretti 'asn't decided to replace me...”

“You can't _work_ in this condition,” she told him, incredulous.

“Eat shit.”

Hawk laughed. “I cannot _believe_ you. You've got to be mad. All of you have got to be stark raving mad. Every boxer I've met has been off the goddamned wall in some way or another and you've got the be the worst of them.”

He tried to sit up fully and ended up easing back down with the pain. “Ye've ne'er met Cyril.”

“Don't sit up. Don't move like that. You'll make it worse. I'll go to the Muir. I'll tell that fool Alpha of yours where you've been and if she wants to come see you, I'll bring her. And I'll tell the Italian. He can't hold it to you, can he?”

Hugh didn't know how to answer that question. There was no doubt that Bazaretti did like him but there was only so much he could get away with when it came down to it. If he couldn't box...if he didn't have his job at the Muir...his savings would dwindle. He would have somewhere to live, surely, but he would be at the mercy of the generous for his food. He would likely have to beg for work and there were only so many things that an unskilled, poor farm boy from Ireland could manage. He wasn't pretty enough anymore to work for Miss Molly...

Hawk shifted, uncomfortable with his anxiety. “I'll beg for your job if...if that's what...”

“No. No...I'll not have an Alpha fight me battles for me. There's only one thing that truly matters to me anyhow. I've got to get this ribbon to Miss Amelia.”

Hawk stared at him blankly and he could smell her sharp adrenaline burst at the mention of Amelia's name. “Y-you what?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the length of ribbon.

She stared at it even as he didn't say anything. “Oh no.”

“No?” His heart started to pound. “What's 'oh no' about it?”

“Tilly told me you might have been runnin' off with some girl so I found out what sort of gal she was and I was aimin' to see if you'd be with her...” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I was sure you'd be with her and I even went as far as to pound on the damned door and some haughty-lookin' fop of a Beta came to greet me and told me that you most certainly weren't with his niece and that he was offended I'd even come to look for you there.”

“Oh, Lord,” Hugh groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“But Hugh,” she continued, “That's not the worst bit of it.”

“Oh? I'd say it is! _Rinne t_ _ú_ _margairl_ _í_ _cr_ _á_ _nach de!_ ”

“What I'm trying to tell you is that she wasn't even _there_.” Hawk leaned forward in her seat. “The man said she'd left the day earlier.”

“To go _where?_ ” he asked, aware suddenly that his heart felt like it was tearing itself in two. There was a strange rending feeling in his chest and it was not pleasant and entirely unfamiliar. Even when Cyril had left to accompany his father for some unknown length of time, Hugh had never felt like _this_. But then again—he'd never fallen in love with Cyril Muir.

“Well I guess she went _home_ , Hugh. Wherever home is.”

“ _Oh my God,_ ” he whispered, unable to hold back the intensity of his sorrow, filling the room with the pungent smell. “She's gone back to England...and I never got to tell her I loved her... _She won't come back..._ ” His eyes fell to the soft, silken ribbon in his palm, his warm, wet tears dripping lightly over the crinkled fabric while everything around him blurred as if reality itself were merely a faded watercolor. His words echoed in his head, stomping down every flicker or spark of his hope.

_She's gone back to England._

_Never got to tell her._

_She won't come back. She won't come back. She won't come back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first got up this morning, the internet wasn't working. The only day I actually needed it??? That's life for ya.
> 
> I hope everyone's enjoying themselves (despite what just happened, whoops). I know I am. :P


	10. Chapter 10

“Tip your head forward just a little there, lovie, yes that's quite right, thank you,” Cuthbert murmured while he placed another pin in her chignon. She hadn't taken her eyes off of his perfectly white gloves that he'd set on her vanity as he did her hair—something that was not unusual but was certainly uncommon, she supposed in most households. The master's valet was not one who was normally to stop in and arrange a lady's hair but she'd found that Cuthbert had an abnormal talent for it and it was when she could get him alone with her. “You look an absolute dream. It's a true pity hair can't stay nice and pinned just right longer than for an evening,” he stated mildly, patting at his work and admiring it in the mirror with her.

“It gives you more practice,” she supplied.

“Of course. If you will permit me, Miss Amelia...”

“Cuthbert,” she chided, “Simply because I have gone to New York and come back does not mean my rules have changed. You are _always_ permitted.”

“Very well then. You do not have to flaunt my creation if you do not wish to. You know you are fully entitled to take your supper in your room. You do not have to submit yourself to this.”

She peered at him in the mirror with blank eyes. “And what is _this_?”

His mouth straightened into a flat line, his black brows bunching while he stiffened his posture. “You're not well, Amelia.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

His tone gathered a slight hint of heat to it when he replied with an unusual fervor for a Beta. “You know damn well what I mean. It's as if New York has stripped away your joy. You were bubbling and optimistic before we sent you off with that horrible mother of yours and now it is as if she's worn you down to the bone. Is it the dowry? Are you worried for your safety during the season?”

She lost eye contact through the mirror and looked down again at his gloves. “Please don't ask me to explain to you, Cuthbert. I've not the strength.”

“Amelia, you can't go on this way. You've never once been prone to episodes such as this and I implore you, whatever happened in New York, we will move past it. You and I and Nathan. Together. You never have to be in danger.” He moved around to the side of her chair and knelt at her side, staring at her with his deep brown eyes imploringly. “Amelia, you don't have to feel alone.”

“Oh...” she breathed. “But Cuthbert...I _am_ alone. If I were not who I am...”

There was a sharp rap upon the door and Cuthbert's head snapped about. He stood, brushing his thumb in a gesture of comfort over her cheek before he opened the door for one of the maids to alert them that dinner was ready. Steeled by the interruption, Amelia swallowed her words and stood up, making her best attempt at becoming cheery. There were some of the girls that said that even smiling when one was not in any way fit to smile should have the effect of lightening a sour scent but she wasn't very much certain of the fact. It was obvious to anyone that Nathan and any of the Alphas upon the staff were loathe to subject themselves to her sorrowful scent, the impulse to protect and to comfort rending at the seams of propriety.

She walked with Cuthbert down to the dining room and allowed him to seat her at her proper place while she ignored the way her mother glared at her and the way Nathan, sat stately and noble in his seat, held his breath with his patient smile. The poor Alpha, she thought. Perhaps she should have stayed up in her room for his sake, rather than her own. He had avoided her for days, keeping to himself and locking himself in his study of only to keep himself from doing whatever it was that Alphas did when an Omega was upset. Touching her was out of the question and it was most certainly what his instincts screamed at him to do.

“Good evening, my Lord,” she murmured, without looking at him.

“Good evening, Miss Watson,” he replied, hiding the strain in his voice well.

Dinner was a trying affair. Her mother didn't speak to her and Nathan very well probably couldn't. As soon as he was finished, he was up like a shot, practically running from her off to his study and she could hardly blame him.

She took a small walk about the gardens when she was finished with her meal but when the cool night became too chilly, she wandered to her favorite parlor and picked up a novel to read for a while before bed. It was difficult to focus. The words kept melting together and she found herself staring off into nothingness while her brain drew a blank on everything she thought she was meant to be thinking about.

There was a sort of soft anger within her. He had given her such a strong and meaningful glance before he'd slipped out of Howard's parlor into the night. He'd squeezed her hand even as he was leaving.

_How could he? How could he leave me like this? Without any hope._

It wasn't long before she found tears on her cheeks and she wiped them away with the back of her hand just as she heard the old wooden door to the parlor creaking open. In the soft, steady lamplight, she was surprised to find Nathan easing his way inside.

“Oh,” she sniffed, standing up and setting her book on the end table. She gave a slight curtsy. “Good evening, my Lord.”

He bowed to her slightly. “Amelia.” He looked down at his shoes and then upward again very quickly. “Excuse me for my intrusion upon you, it is just that Cuthbert and I have had a talk and...he's of the mind that...I should have a chat with you.”

She sat down, nervousness churning in her gut.

“Please, excuse my behavior, Amelia. I can't go another moment without sating my instinct.”

Her eyes sharpened upon him when he shut the door behind him. “I understand that if I was caught in a room alone with you, it could create a scandal but I cannot go another moment without somehow getting this horrid compulsion out of my mind.” He approached her, looming over her where she sat on the settee before he sat beside her and reached for her.

“Nathan?” she asked, her heart racing while she flushed and twittered over how he gripped her in order to place her in his lap. “Nathan! I beg you—”

“Shush, Amelia. I won't hear it.” The Viscount very gently pulled her against him, the soft pressure of his fingers against the back of her neck pressing her head down toward his shoulder where she was suddenly overcome by the musky, sandalwood scent of him.

_Deer jumping through a glen. The fanciful notion of mythological fawns. Big brown eyes and soft, velvet noses. White marble carved into Greek gods. The knicker of a gentle mare. Sun-warmed stone on the terrace. The nipping scent of fresh mulch in the spring. Earth and cold ashes. The twitter of birdsong at a purple twilight._

Every image flashed quickly and decisively through her. Not like Hugh's which had lingered and given her heart a lightness and a quickening that ran deep. Even still, she found his scent along with the prod of his fingers and the soft massage he gave her to be calming, bringing to the fore the strong emotion she had been carrying as a burden.

She wept into his shoulder while he held her and shushed her, rubbing up and down her arm and back while she shook in his arms.

“It's alright,” he whispered while her sobs gradually petered into soft hiccups and stuttering sighs. “It's alright. You're alright. You're a strong Omega. It's perfectly natural to weep every so often. Even for Alphas.” He nuzzled her head, placing a tender kiss to her brow. “Whatever has happened, I'm going to fix it. Alright? I'll do whatever it takes. I'll make everything alright again.”

“Oh,” she groaned, more tears slipping from her eyes, hot on her cheeks. “If only you could fix it, Nathan. If only it were something so within our grasp.”

“May I at least try?” he asked, squeezing her tighter. “I cannot know for certain if I have not exhausted every effort. My dearest Amelia, I will give you the world if it will only make you smile.” He managed to arrange her so that she would straighten within his grasp and he stared at her with his warm and open green eyes that shined at her under his tumbled, nervously pulled brown hair. He was a handsome Alpha and he was merely following his instinct. How could she deny him?

She sniffed. “It is nothing you can solve, cousin. It is a broken heart.”

“From the girl who claimed she would like to grow old in my house, alone and unwed. You manage to fall in love nearly as soon as you leave my steps?”

She let him brush her tears from her cheeks again. “I fell in love with a man I ought not have.”

“Such scandal,” he mused humorously. “Had he been a servant in _my_ house, surely I would have let you—”

“You are too kind, Nathan, for you know what it is like to feel the way I do. But he was not a servant. He was a _boxer._ ”

“Oh...how unusual.”

“And an Omega.”

Nathan gave her a coy grin, “Your predilections are not unknown to me, little love. I had assumed such.”

She felt her face become flushed and she ignored his teasing. “My uncle caught me kissing him in the garden and banished him. I sent word to him that I should be free to pursue him after one more season—a promise Uncle Howard had given me—and to give me word that he would see me again...but he did not.”

“He didn't wish to see you?”

She shook her head. “He was to tie a ribbon about the gate post if he wished to see me again.”

“And he did not,” Nathan sighed. “Oh dear.”

“Do you see?” she asked, her voice cracking with such high emotion, “You can do much for me, cousin, but you cannot force a man's affections. And if he were still warm to me, you cannot force him to change his convictions. If he took what Uncle Howard told him to heart, he must think that it is for the best...”

“I see,” he replied thoughtfully. “There is not much to be done. Perhaps it is for the best, after all, Amelia. What were you going to do with him anyhow? Bring him here? A boxer? A servant, I could hire.”

She sighed and took a deep breath in of his calming scent, dropping her head to his shoulder and letting her fingers wander to his cravat. She traced the folds of it while his Alpha warmth soothed her. “You spoil me, Nathan,” she murmured into his waistcoat.

“I would spoil you further if you would let me.”

“Don't be silly,” she told him, managing a small chuckle. “That is merely your Alpha speaking to my Omega. Cuthbert should never be deprived of you.”

“You're right, of course. He should not be. But you should not be deprived either, little love. If your wish is to go back to New York after a season, then I will surely accompany you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “And you will let me have an adventure?”

A deep masculine rumble escaped him and hummed through her. “All the adventure you're fit to handle.”

“A boxing match?”

“Every match for a week. Why not?”

She drew back and kissed him right on the tip of his nose. “And whiskey.”

“Why wait for whiskey?” he laughed. “You may have some right now if you wish.”

A strange joy welled up in her chest and she slid from his lap while he got up and then knelt before a cupboard near the hearth. He pulled out a decanter and three glasses, setting them up and pouring into two of them.

“I hope you don't mind,” he added, “that I asked Cuthbert to come join us after he's finished with his duties.”

“Of course not,” she smiled as he handed her the glass he'd poured for her.

“Good.” Nathan beamed at her while he took a small gulp from his glass and shivered at the burn. “Your scent is evening out, at least. It makes an Alpha proud when he's able to soothe a weary and sorrowful Omega. I do apologize for having handled you as I had, but you must know that it was necessary...”

“Do not apologize,” she told him, wiping at her eyes with her fingers to rid them of any hint of her tears. “You've made me much happier, at least. It will be difficult for a little while, I suppose, but if some Omegas can live through the death of a mate or...or something so terrible, then surely I can survive a man's rejection.”

“Only a fool could reject you.”

“I wanted to think better of him,” she sniffed. “That perhaps he simply fell into the trap of notions that Howard tried to impress upon him.”

It was at that moment that Cuthbert slid into the room unobtrusively, keeping the door ajar as he came in. His voice was so pleasant to her ears in its sweet mildness when he smiled. “Oh, drinks? Very lovely. Let me get the fire a bit bolstered.” He glanced at Amelia while he set to the task. “I see Nathan couldn't help himself. He's been beside himself, as you know. Worried sick and fighting every instinct. I'd hate to see him get a whiff of you during a heat, he's a slave to his instinct.”

“I am not,” Nathan huffed, taking a gulp of his whiskey.

Cuthbert passed her a sly expression of doubt before he got up and allowed Nathan to pour him a glass. “We were hoping,” he said, taking a sip of the drink, “that you might be open to a suggestion. We've been talking about it for a while and I know that the last time we brought it up was some time ago and circumstances have changed between then and now.”

She arranged herself on the settee and poofed her skirts. She took a deep breath and took a hard gulp of her whiskey, blinking away the tears that formed from its harshness. It had no ice and no water. Her voice was a little weak when she responded. “Oh yes?”

Nathan cleared his throat. “Before, when we first suggested it, you had not seriously considered it due to your lack of a dowry but now...now that you have one, it could be more important that you take the offer into consideration.”

“The offer?”

“Yes...of protection. I should like to accompany you to London this season. To make certain that you are not forced to dance with some unseemly man who would try to whisk you away to compromise you...purposefully or otherwise. I should like to make it so that you should not have a worry for your future.”

She looked down into her glass. “I should be quite a formidable opponent to most with a looming Alpha at my back, I suppose. What a frightful thought.” She had to admit, it wasn't a terrible suggestion. It hadn't been a terrible suggestion when he had first made it but it hadn't seemed as _serious_ then. Now, with her heart in tatters, she was vulnerable and she well knew it. She was going to be at the mercy of the ton and they would rip her to shreds if she could not at least appear to have a man who wished to court her. She nodded slowly. “You would like to appear as though you are courting me, then? That is your goal?”

He blushed a bit. “That would be the intended effect, yes. Nothing so very overt, however, you understand.”

“Alright.” She nodded again, this time with a little more fervor. “Alright then. I accept. I will go along with this plan you've hatched. Though what can I expect?”

Cuthbert paced a bit, slowly moving back and forth by the mantle. “There will be whispers. I'll make sure of it. That he has taken you under his wing. And I know what your next question will be and you shouldn't worry about the plants in the greenhouse. He's been teaching one of the interested maids all about the pesky things and they'll be perfectly fine in his absence. I'll be coming with you of course to make sure it all goes smoothly under the stairs.”

“Naturally,” she agreed.

“Since you have already stated that you do not wish to have a husband, we should stop them from making advances that are too forward and Nathan will surely play the role of a dutiful suitor. He is a shy Alpha but he is still an Alpha. A snarl or two should do it and you should be fairly free for the rest of the season.” He shrugged. “And if you change your mind, you're free to do so...and if you find an Omega that you would prefer to...” He made a vague gesture with his gloved hands and then shrugged again. “We should have no problem enabling your indiscretions just as you've enabled ours.”

She felt her cheeks grow a deeper pink and she put her fingers delicately against her lips while she giggled. “How very kind of you both. I don't know about romance...”

“Who said anything about romance?” Cuthbert snorted. “Gods, woman, you don't have to fall in love with anyone to have a good time. If you're serious, and I know you are, you can do whatever you want. One more season to sate your mother and we'll fight her the rest of your life if you want us to.”

“I truly do appreciate that,” she told them both. “Perhaps there could be some...fun to be had...in London this season.”

“That's the spirit,” Nathan rumbled happily. He motioned toward her with a broad grin. “Now drink up that whiskey, little girl, and after you're well tossed, we'll see how far you can get through a tome of Chaucer before we've wet ourselves in laughter.”

She took another brave gulp of her liquor and flashed her teeth at him. “Devil take you, Lord Ormsby.”

He laughed. “I'll fair skip down the road to meet him, my love and hope you follow behind.”

Even with such friends at her side and a plan that she had no doubt would be diligently executed, how could she dare let herself get close to someone again? How could she dare to allow herself to become so near to another Omega that she should be intimate without having bared her whole heart to them? Even Hugh—all she had done was kiss him in the garden and it felt as though he had torn out every bit of warmth in her soul. It was only the strongest, most callous and catty of Omegas who could do such a thing, she thought. To be naked and vulnerable with someone and keep one's feelings tight in a fist—it was unimaginable. Though, she thought wryly, there was no way she could give anyone else her heart. Not now. Not when it was an ocean away, tucked in an Irish boxer's pocket.

* * *

The weather was getting colder. Sailing into the Muir with his face looking like it did and several broken ribs had earned him a disappointed stare from the Italian but not much more after that. Especially when Hugh was present every morning and every evening and kept regular hours for weeks. He knew he was unusually quiet and there must have been something terribly off about his scent for people constantly asked him if he was alright. He supposed he must be alright. There was nothing else he could be. There was a seeping, festering and bleeding wound in him but as the pain was no more than a distant yearning ache, it was nothing compared to the pervasive physical hurt of his broken bones. He could handle physical pain. He was used to it. Emotions? He'd left those in Ireland.

Goddamn it, he wished he had left them in Ireland.

Every day he thought he was going to finally forget about the way her body felt against his, he would dream of her; her lips and her earnest, inexperienced kisses, her thigh against his groin and the heart-pounding excitement of scenting her for the first time. The way she'd smelled of honeydew, sweet citrus, and fresh spring rain over the emerald green of his father's farm.

_Sitting on the crumbling stone fence with a stolen bit of fresh bread. The texture of a lamb's wool under tender, uncalloused fingertips. Thunder rippling from gray skies and the mist that rose in the rain until he couldn't tell where the clouds ended and the Earth began. The way he leaped over bales of hay in the fields and ran from the drops until he could skitter inside, straight into his Oma's waiting arms. The diffident sound of his Oma's voice as he read in lilting Gaelic tales his own father had written of lost children who'd been stolen in the moors._

Surely he was lost. Surely she was some sort of fae creature who'd taken his heart and soul and consumed it. He woke often in the night, staring up at the ceiling and breathing deep if only to wish that he could keep that scent with him. To hold on to the snaking tendrils of her fading memory.

It was as if he were existing in some kind of strange dream that could not be his own life. Every room was too dark. Every moment so surreal. It was as though he were living somehow as someone else. Some other Hugh. An Omega who could not fight. A man who, unwittingly, had become a good Catholic—guilty all the time.

He sat with a sigh and his head in his hands in the confessional, taking a long pause in which he leaned back against the wood and listened to himself breathe. Father O'Laughlin sat with him, quiet and patient as usual. It wasn't as though Hugh went to confess when there was anyone waiting. How could he? There was always so much to say...except for today.

O'Laughlin cleared his throat.

Hugh sighed again, long and heavy and filled with so much potential.

“Yes child?” O'Laughlin asked. “That's quite a statement for having not consisted of any words.”

He was content to remain quiet for another few seconds before he begrudgingly mumbled, “Bless me father...I have sinned.”

The priest was silent.

“I've got doubt in me heart. I keep wonderin' why I'm plagued by these dreams. 'Ave I not been a good man in the past few months? It's been so long and 'ere I am with these dreams come te me near every night and I can't get her out of my mind.” He covered his face with his hands. “'Ave I not been a good Catholic? I 'aven't fooled around, 'aven't fought any man, 'aven't even done much drinkin' and she haunts me. I'm still in love with her, Father, and I can't stop!”

O'Laughlin groaned. “Not this again.”

“This!” he near shouted. “This until the end of time! I feel as if she's taken my very heart straight out my body.” He doubled over, holding his head. The walls of the wooden box around him felt almost as if they were getting smaller. Closing in. “Father, I'm in love with her. I can't help it. I can't even be sorry for it. She's the one. She's my truemate.”

“Hugh...” The priest's voice was soft but no less affronted by the statement. “She _can't_ be your truemate. Your truemate is an Alpha. That's how—”

“That's how God intended it...that's what you're gonna say te me.” He felt hot tears brimming. “I've been suffering 'ere, Father. She's the only woman I want. I can't get her out of my mind. I've tried. I _tried_ fuckin'. I _tried_ drinkin'. I've gone down the list of me tried-and-trues but there's none of my vices that can hold a candle to the way she makes me feel. I've fair given them up for her memory.”

He heard the slight puff of air that came from O'Laughlin's nose—his signature for disappointment. “And you're not sorry.”

“How can I be?! She's a light upon this world, Father. If you met her. If you saw her smile. If you saw the good in her soul...”

“Hugh...”

“Father...there's no sense left in me. You can call it a test of faith all ye want but God knows me and He knows my heart. If He could give me a blessing such as Amelia and then rightly condemn me for it, then what kind of bastard is He?”

“Don't be a fool, Hugh.”

“Why? I've already disappointed every damned person in my life, what's the difference? Life is _chaos_. What is God to chaos? What's God to me!?”

O'Laughlin's voice was strained and louder behind the screen, the mild Beta scent of his concern flooding Hugh where he sat curled. “God is _order_ , Hugh. You've got a trust him. You can't fall for traps set by the Devil to tempt you. There is a darkness at work and I can see it eating away at you. This isn't normal, child.”

_You're all so damned guilty all the time!_

He stood up and opened the door to the confessional.

“Hugh!”

He was caught halfway to the door to the street by O'Laughlin's warm hand on his arm.

“Hugh don't. Come back. Recite your Act of Contrition. Take the words with you when you go...think about them. You're a fine Catholic, Hugh. You've been lost for a while but I've got faith in you. There's a path out there for you, boy. It's not obvious. It never is. It's not a glowing, golden stream you can follow easily. It's difficult and there are demons set against you. But if you trust in God—”

He shrugged off the priest's hand. “I trust myself.”

“You can't walk away from God.”

“No. You're right. I guess I can't. Since you're here now and ye've got a damned straight shot to 'is ear, could ye tell him to just...” He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just...tell him to take it easy on me? For 'is own sake. I've got a bone te pick with 'im like everyone else, it seems, and He don't make it easier.” With that, he left, grumbling his frustrations to the street while he walked with his hands in his pockets. He found himself in front of Hawk's gym, staring up at it with a longing that singed his nerves.

Life was certainly strange, he thought. To think that something so fleeting could have turned his whole existence upon itself. To think that falling in love, that a ribbon in his pocket, could affect him so much as to make him feel as though he no longer were comfortable in his own body. In his own surroundings. Within his own religion...

“ _God_ ,” he whispered as he wandered back toward the hotel. “ _I know ye don't much care te hear me. But I need her like I need breath. I can't think it's wrong to love her. If it's right...if ye'll forgive it of me...please...let me find her again._ ”

He shuffled his way into the hotel and up to his room where he took a nap until he woke up for his evening shift. When he woke, his nest was a mess, a victim of his constant thrashing movements. There were pillows on the floor next to the bed and blankets tossed about as though he had been a veritable windmill of limbs. Unfortunately, the exertion from his movements made it so that he woke up still rather groggy, his sour mood sticking with him as he put on a nice set of clothes and wandered down the stairs, patting down his cowlicks as he went.

Tilly was flitting about preparing for the dinner rush but she paused for a moment to acknowledge him, her warm hand squeezing his shoulder gently before she let him go to the bar where he began his duties. It was as if someone else were piloting his body. As if he were simply watching himself go through the motions of it all, detached and unaffected. He could feel himself answering questions, fielding minor issues, and could see everything happening, but he couldn't _own_ any of it. Was this his life? Was this him? Was any of this even supposed to happen this way?

He reached down, touching the soft lump in his pocket. The ribbon he had been carefully saving and keeping with him at all times. It couldn't ground him. He merely felt it. An extension of this strange reality. The pangs of emotion that twisted through his chest were horribly real and his mind replayed on a constant loop the moment he had walked out of the church into the cold autumn air. He'd been able to see his own breath and he'd refused to recite the Act. He had no Hail Marys. No Our Fathers. No prayers that O'Laughlin had given him to say because there was no prayer that could save him...he wasn't sorry. He couldn't say he would stop. He couldn't lie about Amelia.

“Hugh,” Tilly murmured, drawing him back into the here and now. “Come with me.” She drew him by his sleeve into the back room, stopping just inside the door. “You smell like...like...rust...or something. It's stinging and I'm certain the patrons can detect it. Perhaps a night in for you? Maybe a good book or an early bed time.”

“Ye're not my boss,” he grumbled.

“I know, little one, but you're not doing anyone a favor by sticking around and driving the customers out of the bar. You're usually frighteningly good at disguising your scent...is it...is it Amelia again?”

“I don't want te talk about 'er.”

“Hugh, if it is about her—”

“Then what?” He met her eyes, glaring up at her. “What am I to do about it? She's off god-knows-where and I'm stuck here. She's not coming back and I just have to weather it. Face it like a man.”

“If I could make it easier on you, Omega, I would. But you're not interested in me and I've no recourse but to suggest that you teach yourself how to relax. Do I have to get Bazaretti to tell you to get the hell out of here?”

“Why don't ye?”

The soft, tepid sound of the Italian's careful English reached them both where they stood. “Hugh.”

The two of them turned their heads toward the Beta while the rest of the staff bustled around them.

“To my office, Hugh. Please. If you would.”

It was just the way the Italian would have worded something like this. Not as an order. It was never an order with Bazaretti. It was always a _suggestion_ or a _request_. It was why he was so successful with Alphas under him—not to mention tempestuous Omegas like Hugh. Of course, he went, following the moderately tall, dark man to the manager's office and sitting in the extra chair opposite the desk.

Bazaretti remained standing. “You've been quite odd lately, Hugh. Is it that you can't fight? Is it pain? I know you have not been taking any medicine for it and it can wear on a man to be with a constant ache. Do you need me to find you a doctor?”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “It's not something a doctor can fix, Beta.”

“It is not physical?”

“No.”

Bazaretti narrowed his eyes and smiled, knowingly. “It is a woman, then.”

“I should have known ye'd be quick.”

He chuckled. “You do smell a bit like a broken heart. But my nose is not always best. It is more that Tilly has been complaining about it. Alphas cannot stand the smell of a broken hearted Omega.” He moved to his chair and sat, his back straight and his hands folded on the desk. “I am fond of you, Hugh. You are smart and you are willful. Having you around has made me further realize how wrong I ever was to doubt the abilities of Omegas. What can I do to help you?”

“Nothing.”

“There is no hope?”

“Unless ye somehow 'ave a ship te sail me te England...no.”

“You cannot tell me that I do not pay you enough as a manager for you to take a small holiday.” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

He was quiet. His money was in the bank. He'd been slowly socking it away. He took his meals in the hotel kitchen, his rent was paid by Muir, and he'd left the drinking and the whores to the other boxers. His pay was steady and it had been that way for weeks, almost two months, even. Was it enough to get to England? He stared down at his shoes.

Bazaretti sniffed. “Think about it, Hugh. Obviously, we manage without you well enough, though I have been spoiled by your presence as of late.”

“I'll go,” he blurted. “I'll go. I...” He sighed through his nose and felt a strange bubbling of hope in his belly. “If I can find my way, I'll go. I have...I have a friend or two in England who could host me. If I show up at 'is doorstep, I'm sure he couldn't leave me there.”

“Good. If it will help you, I encourage it. I will keep your room for you, as it is what the young Mr. Muir has instructed, unless I am told otherwise.”

“Thank ye, Beta. I'll...er...I'll arrange for a ticket, I suppose...”

“Wonderful. I am anxious to hear of your success.” Bazaretti stood and Hugh followed suit, shuffling out of the office in front of him. “Even now you smell a little better. Surely even if you cannot win her back, a trip will be a good distraction. Perhaps you can rest easier and heal quicker.”

He made a soft, noncommittal sound before he wandered off, intending to somehow make his travel plans. He would leave too quickly to send word to Cyril that he was coming and, honestly, he wasn't quite sure even how he was going to get there. His plan was simply to arrive at a port city with one of Cyril's letters, hoping someone might know the way he could go to find the proper address. With a rather lofty little goal in mind, he felt reality slowly coming into form around him and the specter of Amelia nearer to his grasp.

_What will she say when she sees me? How will I get her alone? Will she be angry at me? Of course she will be..._

He made it to his room and threw a bunch of his clothes into a trunk, rummaging around in his bedside drawers to find the letters that Cyril had sent him. Scrawled in that scribbling, nearly unintelligible script was the name of one of Baron Belcourt's estates—the one that Penberth was running and the one that Cyril was inhabiting. There was hope. There was hope that he would not be shunned by the housekeeper of the damned place and shut out as common Irish rabble. There was hope that Cyril would actually be _there_ when he arrived. There was hope that he might get his friend to bring him into polite society, or at least the fringe, enough that he might finally see the girl who haunted his dreams at least one more time.

_Please, God. If this was yer sign, I'm goin' te listen. Please let me get to Hollyvale. Please let me find peace in England. Please let her still want me._

He held his breath, staring unseeing at Cyril's messy script on the letters in his hand.

_Please let her love me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This _was_ two chapters but I said "fuck it" at the last minute because having these two apart is killing me and I can't draw it out any longer than it has to be. I've never seen any of my characters with more hardcore mutual pining. The good news is that Hugh is gonna pull himself together. Yay!
> 
> Up next: Maybe Cyril? Maybe Edwin? Maybe MORE ANGST?!
> 
> Also: I apologize for any stupid spelling errors, I haven't been sleeping very well and that just translates into "J.D. doesn't see every error she makes."


	11. Chapter 11

It was cold. Of course it was cold. It was England. He could barely feel his fingertips and he was glad for his little wool flat cap as it began to rain, spitting icy small pellets of liquid from the gray English sky. He cursed under his breath while he hugged himself, gripping the sleeves of his coat closer to his body as he sat huddled next to his trunk in the back of a carriage that was mostly filled with bundles of straw tied with twine. The man driving it had been happy enough to pick him up and take him into the countryside for a pound, and for a pound more, he agreed to take Hugh all the way to a tavern that was only a few miles from Hollyvale—so he said. By the time the carriage stopped in the middle of a quaint little village and in front of a decently-sized brick tavern, Hugh couldn't feel his toes anymore and wiggled them earnestly in his boots.

He dragged his trunk out of the back of the carriage and was miffed when the Beta who'd driven him picked it up and carried it inside for him. Though the pain in his ribs and the ache in his back were still rather prevalent, he wasn't an invalid, he thought crossly. He could carry his own damned trunk. Even as he was still grumbling to himself, he walked in behind the man to find that the tavern was warm, inviting, and smelled absolutely heavenly. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and several folks milling about the large common room at the tables and sitting at a cozy bar that ran the length of one side of the room.

“Care for a room, little Omega?” The woman who spoke to him was behind the bar, leaning on it with her chin jutted out and her eyes studying him meticulously. “Have an Alpha with ya or jus' yerself?”

“Aye, if ye have one. I'm alone.” To admit it was often a mistake but if she were looking for any trouble, he'd be certain to keep his fists ready.

She assured him that his things would be taken up and she patted the top of the bar where she thought he should sit. He did, staring at her with wary eyes. “No charge for a wayward Omega,” she informed him while she put a bowl of stew on the bar top. “We've rules around here to make it easier on ya poor little dears. Come to stay?”

His lips tightened together but there was nothing in her scent that implied dishonesty. The warmth of the room and the kindness in the stew were enough to loosen his resolve. “I'm looking for Hollyvale...am I close?”

“You're on the Baron's lands, aye, you're close. The house is about a half hour ride to the North. From the look of ya, I might guess ya have more chance of business with the little one rather than the Beta.” She grinned at him.

“Muir,” he mumbled.

“He's a fine patron for us. The Baron is a good Lord but it's his son and the Omega that have done it so we can thrive best we can. What sort of business ya have with Muir?”

“None of yours.”

She raised her brows and sniffed at his curt reply. “Eat up, little one. In the morn, I'll send ya to the house with Ned and ya can take up your cause with the family, whatever it is.”

There was a heavy bolt on the door to the room she gave him and he used it, content to sleep under the freshly laundered sheets and quilts until he was awoken by a gentle tapping upon his door. Ned was a short Beta with a kind face and, to his credit, he allowed Hugh to put his own trunk in the back of his carriage and invited the Omega to sit next to him on the bench seat. The morning was bitterly cold and as the horses began their trek, the steam from their noses rose in giant plumes, lingering in the still air while Hugh hunched himself over to preserve what little warmth his body made. With as cold as it was, he almost wished he'd come around the time of his heat just to ward off the bite of it.

Ned reached back and pulled up a heavy wool blanket, draping it over Hugh's shoulders. “You're a tough little thing. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see another of you. Are you another boxer from America?”

He let himself have a twitching grin while he pulled the blanket tighter about him. “I take it ye know Fox.”

“Benny Belden?” Ned asked.

“Aye.” He rubbed his ear against the wool to warm it.

“He's been working in the kitchen at the tavern. He's one of a few odd Omegas who've come to town looking for a way to make it on their own. Penberth does his best to make it so they've got a haven of sorts. We don't mind them. They're good workers and they take care of each other well.”

Hugh shivered. “I suppose ye're all fond of Muir then.”

“Muir is a strange little fellow. I try to stay out of his way if he comes into town. He's a bit of a sour lad and he's got a glare that could drop you down dead if he were to cast it upon you long enough.” Ned scratched the side of his head. “I've never seen an Omega so fierce. I don't think he's fond of being couped up at the house.”

Hugh grunted in response. Of course Muir wasn't fond of being sequestered. He was supposed to be running an empire and lord knew how long it was going to take for him to have satisfied his duties to his mate. Having a hand in the proceedings and goings-on about a small town would only serve to incite Muir's hunger for order out of chaos. He was probably constantly chomping at the bit to get everything running smoothly wherever he was.

When they reached the estate, Ned watched him pull down his trunk from the carriage and he set it down just as the front door swung open to reveal a tall and reed thin Beta who must have been the butler. Hugh crossed his arms and stood to his full height with his back ramrod straight.

The butler gave a slight bow to the both of them and addressed Ned. “A pleasure, Mr. Cox.” He then looked to Hugh expectantly, his cheeks gaining color from the cold. “Please, come in, both of you.”

“Thanks to ya, Blackwell,” Ned said, shaking his head. “But I'm just here to give the Omega a lift. He's got business with the family and I've got to get back to town to help out with a few errands before lunch.”

“Very well,” the butler nodded. A footman emerged from the door and took charge of Hugh's trunk as he was shown inside, the warmth of the place easing his tension but the size of it putting a slack feeling in his crooked jaw. Blackwell shut the door behind him while he marveled at the marble and gilt, a house with splendor that could only be compared to the Muir. That it was a family home was enough to cause him to balk at its size and luxury. He wondered how many folk actually lived in such a place or if it spent much of its time empty. The butler took his coat and led him into a drawing room with a fire in the hearth and the curtains drawn to reveal a sprawling and lush lawn that would have been more vibrant had the light not been so diffused by the overcast morning.

“Shall I bring you some tea?” Blackwell asked. “And whom shall I say is calling, sir?”

“Oh...” He turned about to look at the man, surprised to find his expression rather friendly. “Some...some tea would be alright. Could...could ye tell Muir that Hugh McCowell would like te see 'im?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He wasn't used to being called “sir.” More than that, he wasn't used to anyone speaking to him with any sort of deference at all. He wandered around the room, loathe to touch anything. His hands probably weren't clean enough to be inspecting anything and he'd be damned if he'd touch any of the crystal glasses by the decanter in fear that he might drop one and break it with how cold his fingers were. With that thought in his mind, he moved to the fireplace and put his fingers out toward it, gingerly wiggling them in the heat until he could feel the blood slowly coming back to them.

Cyril's voice from the door shocked him.

“You know I had think for a moment about who the devil Blackwell was talking about when he told me a Mr. McCowell was here to see me.”

Hugh turned and swallowed a bark of laughter at his friend's appearance, fat as he was. “Good lord, Cyril,” he snorted.

“Oh, come off it.” Muir rolled his eyes and came further into the room, nearly waddling in pregnancy. “You could have sent word that you were coming. I would have had time to warn you of the monstrosity I've become. Do not be mistaken, I'm glad to have your visit though I am shocked to find you here.”

Hugh approached him, curiously staring at his belly. “I've a reason, I assure ye. I probably shouldn't be askin' ye for any favors since I'm still the mooch who depends upon yer good graces to live at the hotel...”

“Nonsense,” Cyril replied, casually taking Hugh's hand and placing it low on his rotund stomach. He pressed Hugh's hand rather firmly against the silk brocade of his tailored waistcoat and held it there. “You're my friend and my confidant. I suppose you've been saving all of my letters. Of course there will always be a place for you. I can only expect that whatever has got you here in such a hurry can only be of the utmost importance. What is so dire that you could not write me? Do you need funds? Is it an Alpha?”

“No, none o' that, it's—” He gasped when he felt a strange flicking under his palm, the babe inside actively bumping him through Cyril's body. “Oh, Lord!”

“There are two of them,” Cyril smiled. “Twins.” He let Hugh's hand go and rubbed over his belly.

“A potent Beta ye've snagged, I suppose,” Hugh marveled. Seeing his friend in such a state and positively glowing about it was at least a small bit surreal. It was a rare moment to find one of the cantankerous fighters feeling even the slightest bit motherly and here was Cyril Muir, the most forceful and tenacious of Omegas with his scent full of pride and affection for _twins_.

“You were going to tell me why you're here,” Cyril reminded him, moving to the settee and sitting.

“I've got a wee problem.”

“I can gather that much.”

He sighed. “I'm in love with a gal.”

Muir hadn't been expecting that. He was quiet while Blackwell came in with the tea tray and a few small savory scones. When the butler had left again after pouring the Omegas their cups, Muir took a sip and nodded lightly. “You're in love with an English girl. That's why you're in England. You want to do what, exactly?”

“I just wanted to tell 'er how I feel.”

“To what end?”

He shrugged, mildly frustrated. “I don't rightly know that. All I know is that it's killin' me inside to know that she doesn't know exactly how I feel about 'er.”

“And how can I help?”

“She's a...she's a debutante.”

Cyril's eyes rolled upward and he groaned, setting his tea down upon the saucer with a clink that seemed to punctuate his exasperation.

“Cyril, please. It's fate ye've married Penberth and gotten into these houses and parties and I need you te help me. She's so beautiful. If ye only knew her. If ye only saw her. If ye'd only kissed her...”

“Hugh, this has got to be one of the most irresponsible things I've ever heard you do. You've done some pretty dastardly things in your time and honestly, I'd never found myself much surprised by them but kissing a debutante is fairly low even for you. If her family had even—”

“They did...” he flushed.

“Oh my god,” Cyril sighed, his scent suddenly more amused than agitated. “I've got to say, Hugh, I'm damned tickled. If you only want to impress upon her that you love her, you should write out a missive and I could have one of the footmen send it along. You didn't have to come all the way here, you could have just sent it to me and I could have forwarded it to her.”

“I need te see her.”

Cyril started. “How in the world do you think I'll be able to swing that?”

He paced in front of the fireplace, sipping at his tea. “I don't know! I figured _you_ would 'ave an idea.”

“Well you're not about to be invited to any season parties and even if anyone knew you existed they'd still avoid you like the devil. How do you expect _me_ to...” Cyril paused, staring off into the fireplace. “Well...” he mumbled. “That is unless _I_ were the host. If you think you'd like to stay long enough, I could take you to London with us and we could have a small party and send her an invitation...though I daresay I'll be fairly large by then.”

“Ye're already so round...”

“Well, there _are_ two of them to contend with. I'd love to have you here, Hugh. And I'll send Bazaretti a note telling him to keep your suite for you. I suppose Hawk must be livid.”

Hugh gulped down his hot tea, relishing the burn. “I can't fight. I'm useless to her as I am. I'm still healing me broken ribs from Maddie trying te put me down and I might as well be in England. If ye can help me, Cyril, I'd be in your debt forever.”

“Don't start talking debts with me, Hugh. We've long since passed the point of favors. Anything I do for you is what I would do for my own blood. I'll have the staff bring your things upstairs and I'll make sure everyone knows you'll be staying with us for a while. I hope you don't mind being my guest. I'm certain Edwin will be thrilled to have some company. Now, upon the matter of this girl...”

“Cyril, she's a dream. I've never met a girl who smelled like _home_ before.”

His brows pinched. “What in the world were you doing so near to a debutante as to scent her?”

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he mumbled, “It's a bit of a tale. I know what you'll say, that I should have known better, and I 'ave to admit that I did. But there'd never been any harm to my scentin' a gal before and...”

“She's not just some girl, Hugh. She's from a noble family.”

“Still just a Miss. Not a Lady...”

Cyril pinched the bridge of his nose. “And her name?”

He sighed it out, his face curling into a stupid smile. “ _Amelia_.”

Cyril looked up and stared at him, nonplussed.

“She's so beautiful, Cyril, if only you'd—”

“Kissed her? I have.”

Hugh swallowed his words and he felt as if the wind had been knocked clear out of his lungs. It was as though he had just taken one of Cyril Muir's left cross hits right to his gut.

“Don't get mucked up about it, she's a free spirit. She kissed me the night we met last season after I made the attempt to rescue her from an odious Alpha. This _is_ Miss Watson we're talking about, is it not? I _had_ suggested to her that she might go to New York one day and it seems as if she's had plenty of an adventure there. I'm not sure if this is some kind of divine intervention that would put you two together or if it's some cruel twist that fate's allowed.” His mouth quirked. “I suppose she's not the worst debutante you could have fallen in love with. She's the most receptive, I should think. Still...I've no idea what you think you're going to do. Even if she does love you.”

Hugh jumped nearly a foot when Penberth's soft and mild voice sounded from the doorway.

“He could always have a tenancy in town.” The Beta bowed. “I apologize for having startled you, Hugh. I hadn't meant it.”

“S'alright. Mornin' to ye, Penberth. I 'adn't thought ye'd be interested in my...affairs.”

“You're not only Cyril's friend, Hugh. I consider you one of mine as well.” The tall blonde Beta towered in the room with the two Omegas and he made his way to the tea tray to pour himself a cup. “I'm sorry to have eavesdropped. I suppose the most worrisome aspect of your having fallen in love with a debutante would be her family. What a scandal that would cause...” He sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I suppose if someone could keep quiet about the whole thing, you could always move her into the Muir in New York...”

Cyril waved his hand back and forth to nix the idea. “Noble is the thought but how in the world could he support her? You two need a benevolent benefactor. Such as...well such as _us_. But to tear her away from her family without just cause: society would be quite shocked. I suppose it comes down to whether or not she loves you back.”

“Lord, I hope she does,” he mumbled more to himself.

Penberth nodded, frowning at his tea. “Well then I suppose the first thing must be first. We'll simply have to reunite the two of them and see where that goes. Though, Hugh,” he raised his brows and looked at the boxer. “You shouldn't be putting any carts before your horses...she _is_ a debutante no matter what she feels about the matter. Your gesture is very sweet and the sentiment is lovely, of course, but you've got more than just the fact that you're an Omega working against you. She's _entirely_ out of your class.”

Cyril grunted. “And _you_ are entirely out of _my_ class.”

Penberth conceded that point with a single shoulder shrug. “Well...speaking only of breeding, that is true. My father was quite dubious of you.”

“Now imagine if I were Hugh.”

Hugh sighed and slumped down upon the settee. “I get it. I'm trash.”

Edwin chuckled. “I'm certain everything will work itself out. That is...provided that she's receptive of your sentiments.”

The conversation scattered from that point and the night moved on. He settled in well at Hollyvale and found his place easily. He was a guest, for all intents and purposes, but he couldn't help but find himself wandering about in places that only servants normally moved within and several times during his stay, he helped Cyril with differing baking projects in the kitchens. He taught the cook a few tricks he'd learned from Tilly for making chowder and often found himself wandering through the halls of the place with a rag to do some dusting or to clean some windows. Just before Christmas was the first time he had stumbled upon Penberth with the study door open and he had been invited to pull up a chair so that Edwin could teach him a few things about running the estate. It became a rather interesting set of lessons that he was eager to absorb, following along with the Beta's small errands during the days and soaking up every piece of information he could until Penberth had finally asked him if he should like to try his hand at it for a week and see how he could do.

At the end of the long, cold week in December, with Christmas just days away, Hugh was delighted at Penberth's judgment.

“I say, Hugh, you don't give yourself enough credit with that mind of yours. Sharp as a tack, you are. I've got half a mind to keep you as my estate manager. If it all goes poorly, you should keep that in mind and if you'd like to keep your hand in it until we're off to London, I'd surely let you continue.”

“O'course, Penberth,” he replied, warmed to his toes at the praise. As December and January flew, he was astonished at how quickly Cyril's tummy had expanded and how active his pups were. According to the doctor who came every few weeks, they were well on track to make their debut around April though Hugh thought he would be quite surprised if they could wait so long.

“It's not so bad,” Cyril insisted as he waddled down the hall to get his coat, intent on a small stroll through the gardens. “I certainly am not allowed to do certain things but I'll be fine to be in London, I swear it. Though, I must admit, I would prefer that our party we have be quite small. A dinner, perhaps.”

Hugh nodded, pulling on the greatcoat Cyril had bought him for Christmas in order to escort his friend in the wintry wonderland of the garden path. Although the feisty Omega may have abhorred the notion, Hugh was not about to let him slip and fall on any patches of ice as pregnant as he was. “A dinner sound right,” he agreed, holding the door open so Cyril could step out, his cheeks instantly gaining a pinkish tinge from the cold.

“I shouldn't like to be around too many folk in my condition. You understand. How embarrassing.”

“It's not embarrassing,” Hugh laughed, taking Cyril's hand and hooking it into the crook of his elbow while they began their wander. “It's bloody adorable is what it is.”

“You're mad,” Cyril muttered. “Aside from that, should I arrange the seating and put you next to her or should you like to have a bit of a distance at first?”

“I'd like for ye te put us next to each other but the more I think about it, I think I might like to keep my distance. I can't trust myself.”

“I understand,” Cyril nodded. “Then I'll arrange it. We're leaving in a week and we'll get there rather early for the season but plenty of families do. Her mother is an anxious sort and would be loathe to miss out on any early invitations. If they don't come early, though...” Cyril bit his bottom lip.

“If they don't come early, then what?”

The other boxer huffed nervously through his nose. “Well...I might not be able to help you then.”

Hugh felt his heart freeze suddenly in anxiety. “What do ye mean? Why?”

“Well...some families don't come to London until _April_.”

“Oh Lord.”

Cyril's smile was tight and apologetic. “But at least you'll get to meet the twins.”

Hugh couldn't help his short laugh. “O'course. Always the silver lining, eh Cyril? I'd love te meet the twins and we'll cross that bridge whene'er it comes.” He stopped walking and faced his friend, kneeling down and speaking to his plump belly. “Listen up in there, ye wee pups. I've got a gal I need to see and yer Oma needs to 'elp me do it. I can't 'ave any o' these _shenanigans_ getting in the way of it!”

Cyril was chuckling down at him.

“Everett!” Hugh barked. “Charles!” He started laughing. “I can't 'ave it! I 'ope ye both can hear me, 'cause I mean it, ye little turds.”

“And if they're girls?” Cyril asked with a huge grin.

“They're not...” Hugh touched his hand against the Omega's tummy and rubbed affectionately before he stood up. “I know they're not.”

Instead of putting his hand in the crook of Hugh's arm again, Cyril gently interlaced their fingers, squeezing lightly before they continued their walk and their waddle through the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone can thank PrettyCharlie for this update 'cause she had a bad day yesterday and I was hoping an extra update could make it better. :P
> 
> ~~Um...with the way this is going, maybe Cyril will have his lil babbies...~~


	12. Chapter 12

Amelia knew she was making a face and she didn't care who saw it. Nathan was amused by it and her mother was frazzled, as usual. The only good thing about London during the winter was that it had not the chance to smell so poorly as it did during the summer months when all the refuse in the streets was teeming and baked in the sun. It normally did not reek so badly along the nice, quiet streets upon which Nathan's town mansion was situated but sometimes, the wind would shift and the stench was detectable enough to make her feel like retching.

It was March and her mother did not want to miss Lady Griggsby's first dinner of the season which she held for all the early birds. Some families were so early into town, so giddy for the season, that they had been within the capital since January or February, plotting out their dinners and their balls and all of the grand parties which needed committees and twittering groups of Omega Ladies who would fashion everything to their liking. Everything was meticulously detailed and Amelia wanted _no_ part of it.

When she was finally able to shed her coat and hand it off to Cuthbert who took it gracefully before he handed it in turn to the housekeeper, Mr. Thomhill, she tilted her head back and made an unladylike groan to the high vaulted ceiling, eliciting a disgusted sniff from her mother and a humored chuckle from Nathan.

“Have you had enough of London already, Amelia?” he asked her, paying no attention to the dirty expression her mother gave to his usage of her first name. It was not something he normally did in company and it must have irked her to her bones to hear him so casually informal with her.

“Truly, you know me only too well,” she sighed, smiling at him and casting a warm expression to Cuthbert who studiously ignored her for propriety's sake. “I can only hope that the Alphas will be kinder to me this time around with you snarling at them from over my shoulder.”

Her mother's screeching voice withered her optimism. “He will do _no such thing_.” She could have probably stomped her foot with what caterwauling she looked about to make. “I'll not have your chances of marriage be ruined this season!”

Nathan's cool tone was nonchalant and airy when he addressed the tantrum. “I'm certain there will be an Alpha to make an offer once or twice. If Amelia is to reject him, she has only to say the word and I will be her protection...”

“And who shall protect her from _you_ , Ormsby?” she spat, whirling off in a flurry of skirts.

There was a small pause before Nathan lifted his brows. “Well!”

Amelia was grinning while she untied her bonnet and handed it off to Thomhill whose mouth had suspiciously quirked at the sides. “I know you've long-since decided to ignore everything my mother says to you. It's better for your health that way, you know.” She laughed at that and then allowed for the staff to show her to her room. She always stayed in the same room when she was at Nathan's town home and she felt perfectly comfortable, changing into a fresh gown before she wandered down the stairs to wait for supper.

Mr. Thomhill was at the bottom of the stairs with a gilded platter in his hands and several parchment envelopes sitting atop it. “These came for you a few days ago, Miss Watson.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “They are probably just invitations...” She inwardly groaned. “Perhaps could you put them...oh...I don't know...in my room?”

“There was one that was particularly stressed as important, if I may, Miss Watson,” Thomhill mentioned. “It is the one on top.”

She picked up the one with a slight frown and walked into the parlor where Nathan was sitting with his brandy while she inspected it. “Gracious!” she smiled, “It's from _Cyril._ ”

“Cyril?” Nathan asked, still eying the society paper.

“Muir!”

Nathan glanced upward and set the paper down in his lap. “Muir. The hotelier?”

“His _father_ is the hotelier. Of course, I'm certain that Cyril has been doing a fine job of it...he's so well-suited to hold such a legacy.” She sighed, reminiscing uselessly over how she'd kissed him at Lady Hayworth's ball. He was so dashing in black and his cutting accent had been so alluring. There was something so dangerous about Cyril Muir, she thought.

Nathan had rolled his eyes at her girlish sigh. “The little chap that married the Beta,” he nodded more to himself. “If you're going to fall in love with someone else, it had better not be a married Omega lest you have their mates nipping at your heels or worse.”

She sat next to him, carefully pulling open the seal and reading through Cyril's spidery scrawl. “He's having a little dinner and he's invited us. This will be such a lovely time, I haven't had enough opportunity with him to chat since he went off and married dear Mr. Penberth.”

“ _Dear_ Mr. Penberth,” Nathan said, “The man who married the capable and swoon-inducing Omega I'll hear you sighing about for days, I expect.”

“Do not tease me,” she scolded while she got up and poured herself a brandy.

“Don't let your mother walk in and find that in your hand, she'll probably cut my throat while I'm sleeping.”

As much as she hoped that Nathan's poppycock was just that, her mother had clearly been even more on edge than she normally was. It was already March and the scent of Amelia's sorrow was still present. It wasn't something she could _control_ and the fact seemed to slip from her mother's mind all too easily. She still thought about _him._

“Oh no,” Nathan blurted, leaning to reach for her. “No, no, no. Not while we're in London. Not right before the season. You can have your subtle melancholy all you want but I'll not have you clearing out rooms at get-togethers with some overt scent such as this.” He pulled her gently toward him and eased his free hand to her nape, pressing and kneading her until she had closed her eyes and submitted to the touch, the edge in her scent dulling and fading into muddled sweetness. “I swear that boy must have been _something_ indeed. Aside, I should let you know that we've been invited to a small soiree tonight and though it's your first night in London and you were probably looking forward to a bit of rest, we should probably get your mother into the swing of things before she pulls out all of her hair.”

“Ever the opportunist, aren't you?” she mumbled before she took a gulp of her brandy with her eyes still closed, thoroughly enjoying the way his fingers upon her neck made her feel. She would have cursed being an Omega and being so easily manipulated by touch but when it came to this, she was helpless and she didn't much care. It was Nathan, anyway. She was overly comfortable with him. He and Cuthbert had both been her steady rocks when pitted against the world and her mother and she did not know what she would ever do without the both of them. Leaving them was _not_ an option and it was enough to make her absolutely certain that she would not be getting married. This season or _ever_.

Her mother was not a fan of being fashionably late to anything and so she and Nathan stepped into Lady Griggsby's front hall exactly on time. She politely curtsied everyone she ran into and orbited Nathan as if he were the Earth and she his moon, hoping that the unattached Alphas who were also present at the function would notice and leave her alone. The night ran smoothly enough and it seemed to be working up until the bunches of them were clustered into small groups in the drawing room after dinner. Nathan was standing by the piano forte while a young Omega played prettily and she had been cornered by Lady Windsham who was curious to know how her trip to New York had gone.

“How _is_ your uncle Howard?” she asked curiously, “You know my husband and he went to Eton together.”

“Oh yes? He is well. He's made quite a success of himself.”

“I understand he's bestowed upon you a quite generous dowry. You're a lucky girl, indeed,” Lady Windsham noted quietly. “Have you met my nephew?”

Amelia flitted her gaze to where the Lady had flicked her eyes to find a tall young man chatting with some of the other gentlemen. He was thin with broad shoulders and a distinctly Alpha stance to him that exuded confidence and poise. “No, I don't believe I have.”

“It is thought that he should become my husband's heir and we have been grooming him well for the title should we not be blessed with a pup of our own. I should introduce you. He's quite handsome and this will be his first season. I'm of the mind that an... _experienced_ Omega should be the one to gradually bring him into society's graces.”

Amelia wanted to arch her brows at that—since _when_ had she been in society's graces? The dowry Howard had given her had done much for the way the gentry was going to treat her, that was for certain, she thought humorously. “Perhaps that is prudent, though I cannot make the promise that I should be an exceptional guide when it comes to society. Their whims are often upon a wind that I am woefully unprepared to handle with my meager sails.”

The older Omega twittered with laughter and flipped out her fan, fluttering it toward her neck while she laughed. “Oh, you are a darling girl. I must admit, I was most dubious of you last season when you were so bold with the Alphas, but I've reminisced enough to recognize myself in you. A young lady cannot always be careful or she will not always get what she wants—which is, in the end, what you should _have_ , of course.”

“Indeed,” she agreed.

Lady Windsham waved to her nephew and the action brought him over to the pair where he bowed deeply to Amelia. She responded with a curtsy while the Lady spoke. “Miss Watson, this is my nephew, Niall Rathmore, Niall, this is Miss Watson.”

His voice was deep though not as deep as Nathan's and he still held the shade of youth in it. “Good evening, Miss Watson. It is a pleasure to finally put a face to your name.”

“Oh? Should I inquire as to whom had the audacity to speak of me to strange men?”

His cheeks suddenly gained a ruddy pink and he stuttered out, “I-I...I didn't mean it so... I apologize, Miss Watson. That is not to say that we were being vile gossips, of course. The nature of our talks were not to disparage you, you understand.”

Lady Windsham was chuckling at his embarrassment, giving Amelia a covert wink behind her fan, obviously tickled to see the spry Alphas put well enough on their toes.

“Should I give you the benefit of the doubt then and hope that all of your words were of the utmost respect and dignity? Do not deceive me, Mr. Rathmore, I'm well aware of what happens in the dark corners of White's and the billiard rooms of Alpha lords.”

“Forgive me, Miss Watson,” he begged becomingly. “I'd no intention of offending you...”

She narrowed her eyes, amused. “Perhaps...” She had no intention of letting him know if she was musing upon forgiving him or whether or not she believed that he meant no offense. Watching him squirm was half the fun. For a moment, she thought that perhaps Howard really had done her a favor.

“Well,” Lady Windsham sniffed, “with any luck, we'll have a spirited season this year. I, for one, cannot wait for the rest of the families to come to town so that we might have a splendid ball with Lady Hayworth in April. These small dinner parties are nice but can hardly foster candid conversation. Though, Miss Watson, I must admit, _you_ are so refreshing of a young woman. I'm planning a larger dinner some time at the end of this month, you simply _must_ join the ranks. I fear I shall not have any wit at the table without you.”

“My Lady,” she gasped pleasantly, “How uncouth of you to underestimate your guests.” She laughed along with the Countess while Mr. Rathmore's mouth seemed frozen in an awkward smile. He was clearly not following their humor. “I should only hope that this large dinner of yours should not have any unsavory characters in attendance. I, for one, have had enough embarrassment for the rest of my life when it comes to disingenuous Alphas.”

“Oh!” Lady Windsham remarked, her eyes widening in what must have been remembrance. “Oh dear, that is right. I do remember that. Oh, no. You may rest easy, Miss Watson. Lord Kentworth seems to have quit London for the season in favor of running his country estate. I suppose he will around for business and such but he's...” She lowered her tone and flitted her eyes about the drawing room. “He's not much welcome at many parties. His run-ins with you and poor Mr. Hainsley seem to have done him in, you know. These Alphas think they can say whatever they wish without consequence until a man like Mr. Muir throws a good swing at them, even if he didn't land a hit.”

Mr. Rathmore drew up, his strong scent quirked with intense curiosity. “I say...you two are like some chittering birds and I admit I am most intrigued. Is this what you all read in the society papers?”

Amelia smiled at him with a slight pity, “Oh dear, have we scandalized you? Truly, Mr. Rathmore, you must understand. One does not have to _read_ the scandal if one _is_ the scandal.”

“Ah,” he grinned. “I assume you have much experience in the matter?”

“The most of all the debutantes,” she replied, half serious. “Now if you'll excuse me for a few moments?” She curtsied, still giggling to herself while she tapped her way off to the water closet down the hall. It took half an age to arrange her skirts just right in the cramped little room and another half an age to get herself settled enough to allow for her to relieve herself in an unfamiliar space. By the time she was finished and she emerged, she could hear most of the group in the other room singing or at least humming heartily along with the pianoforte. Just as she had turned to join them, she gasped at a voice in the hall behind her.

“Miss Watson...”

“Oh dear!” She whirled about, her mind racing when she found Rathmore standing tall in the shadows.

“Please, I didn't mean to startle you.”

Her hand was upon her bosom and she tried valiantly to calm her scent and her nerves, soothing herself with even breaths. “Mr. Rathmore,” she whispered, “this is entirely—”

“Inappropriate, I know. But you are no stranger to scandal, as you've just noted. I...I've decided that the usual channels for finding a wife are...arcane, if you would. I would much rather hold more...intimate conversation with a potential mate...as that must be what you're looking for in me. I _am_ to be titled and my aunt seems quite fond of you...”

She narrowed her eyes and she could smell the steel in her own scent as it hardened, “The truth is revealed,” she growled. “I see just what those Alphas have spoken of in their circles with you in attendance. Do not make a _mistake_ , Mr. Rathmore. I'll not play into any of your youthful games this season and I'll _certainly not_ be meeting with you outside a proper gathering.”

His head tilted and the side of his mouth twitched downward. “You are perplexing, Miss Watson. Bold and yet...coy.”

“I am _not_ in any way _coy_ , Mr. Rathmore. I am _disinterested._ ”

“Come now,” he snuffed in a slight chuckle, “That's not true. You ladies seem perfectly attached to those sort of words but really, it's all just to make an Alpha more enraptured by you. You're an experienced woman, I'm certain you're aware.”

She drew up and glared at him, “You are _impertinent._ ”

He took a step toward her. “And you are lovely.”

A deep, menacing tone from behind her signaled the arrival of her rescuer. Nathan's snarl was low as not to attract any attention but sharp as a blade. “Take not one more step toward her, Alpha. Or I'll have your neck in my hands to wring you dead.”

Rathmore jittered and took a stuttered step backwards with a dry swallow as his strong, youthful scent veered into the burn of fear. “L-Lord Ormsby...I...I wasn't...”

“That's right,” Nathan said, looming up to Amelia's side and offering her his arm which she took readily. “You _weren't._ ”

Amelia jutted her chin out toward Rathmore and then smiled toward her cousin, smug. “Shall we rejoin the others, my Lord?”

“Of course, Miss Watson.”

The encounter stayed with her for the rest of the evening, tugging at her guts as she thought about the implications of the matter. There were no doubt several other Alphas who could not wait to corner her alone somewhere and though she did have Nathan at her side, it was obviously not enough to convince them all that she was unavailable to them for their lascivious fantasies of naughty, coy Omega debutantes. Even if the ladies of the ton were to change their minds about her, she was still considered an open target for Alphas seeking virgins to deflower in casual affairs. It was a maddening prospect and one that could not be well-managed simply by arriving in the same carriage as Lord Ormsby.

When she finally returned home, she allowed Cuthbert to unpin her hair in the parlor after her mother went off to bed and Nathan stood by the fireplace, staring down into it, pensive. She sighed and leaned into the Beta's touch when he brushed her nape. “I'm going to have a devil of a time wrangling these damned Alphas.”

Nathan grunted his agreement. “This being only our first soiree, my dear, I only fear it shall get much worse. Rathmore will certainly spread that I am your protector and they will actively seek to subvert my attempts to rescue you.”

Cuthbert mused behind her as he released the last of her pins, letting her dark hair tumble through his fingers. “I had hoped it would not come to this so quickly but this is also one of the matters Nathan and I have been discussing, Amelia. That it may be necessary to do something rather _drastic_ to save you from this season though it should not cause you any harm in the slightest. It was simply not ideal.”

“Out with it,” she snapped, frustrated. It could not be so horrible as the prospect of being unwillingly scented or compromised in the gardens of some unfamiliar estate and she could not imagine that her two closest friends should ever devise a plan that she would be unwilling to pursue in earnest if it would help her avoid a scandal or worse—a forced bond.

Nathan turned about and leaned his shoulder against the mantle, his eyes soft and shining with reluctance in the firelight. “Amelia, please understand that I am perfectly serious in my intentions and I should not ever be in any way insincere in my wish.”

She stared at him, her heart constricting in her chest at his level gaze that did not flicker even for a moment.

“ _I'd like you to become my wife._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, everyone. I've found myself feeling pretty generous this weekend for all the lovelies who read this strange story.
> 
> **Up Next:** Hugh's plans are fucked up.
> 
> Comments are always encouraged. Like it, hate it: leave a comment. Though, I must admit, if you hate it, I will wonder how you ever made it to Chapter 12 before you were bothered enough to talk shit. Don't be shy. Leave me a note!


	13. Chapter 13

Hugh's fingers were tingling. He could hardly breathe through all of his nervousness and even still, he fought to tamp it down to even out his scent. His hair was cut and combed, though he couldn't say much for the cowlick that stuck up from the back of his head, fanning up like a turkey's feathers where his hair swirled. He'd been washed thoroughly and he smelled of soap and lavender more than his own musky sweetness. Cyril's old clothes, from before he'd gotten plump with his pups had been tailored just slightly to fit him perfectly and he felt rather dapper in them as he paced through the garden of the town home. It was just minutes before the guests would begin to arrive and he could only keep his emotions down so far before they threatened to overtake him again. He wasn't even wearing his greatcoat in the cold of the March evening and when the first of the regal coaches came up the drive, he slithered around the side of the house to watch with wide, searching eyes for the woman who had sent him thousands of miles from his home to find her.

They were all so lovely. The women were tiny Omegas with feathers and jewels in their hair, their steps light and their voices high and airy on purpose. Nothing like he remembered his girl—his Amelia. _His Omega_. She was a whip that cracked through still air, unafraid and bold as the brightest of sun in the depth of summer. She was not _pastel_.

He turned away from the light of the lamps and toward the darkness at the side of the house, breathing out an unsteady set of puffs before he was wrenched back to the scene by his curiosity, peering out at each of the guests as they arrived until he scented the mild tones of a Beta.

“Cyril thought you might be skulking about,” Penberth whispered. “You know, she'll see you better if you greet her in the parlor before dinner.”

“Aye,” he breathed, his voice nearly cracking. “She would. But I'm so afraid of what she'll think o' me. I didn't mean to leave her without tellin' 'er...I don't want 'er te be angry at me.” It was a sentiment he hadn't wished to admit but found himself blurting out anyway. It was too easy to speak to the Beta.

“I'm certain she can't be overly upset. If it were all to go awry, I hope you know you're always welcome with us, Hugh. I'm sure Cyril would love to have you help with the twins and you're a perfectly competent estate manager. I can't imagine anyone more suited to puttering about Hollyvale with us.”

He swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that had welled up with Penberth's words. “That's...that's right kind o' ye, Penberth.”

The Beta shivered in the moonlight, his breath in a wisp. “Come inside, Hugh. You'll catch your death out here in this cold.”

“Well...alright.” He supposed if he should have to walk to the gallows, he would rather himself be with Penberth, the honorable Beta, as he did it. Fortunately, the parlor was rather sizable and he paused just before he was to go in through the archway to the lesser used hallway. It was darker where he stood, just outside the door, and when Penberth looked around to find him he merely rolled his eyes and joined the fray. Hugh was not so bold. He couldn't be. Not when, at that moment, he spotted _her_.

His heart ached when he beheld her, glittering in the lamplight with pearls and one or two straight, sensible feathers cocked up from her braided coiffure. Oh, she looked a dream. She was his fantasy. Her gown was threaded with gold, the lovely deep sanguine of it accented by shimmering light over the bodice and the hems with spilling, frothy lace from where the sleeves ended just near her elbows. He was caught. He couldn't breathe for she was so beautiful. Her mouth was perfectly pouted and her chin tipped downward politely while she greeted Penberth and Cyril, her pleasant curtsies and gliding steps mesmerizing him within every new second.

He was hidden well, though he found himself standing just to the side under the archway to get a better look at her. He didn't care who saw him staring. He'd every right to stare. She was _his girl_ after all. He knew he had that stupid longing smile on his face but he couldn't help it and he was tortured by the tangle of his emotions, unsure if he wanted her to speak to him, to even simply look at him, or not. After such a long time, months of being apart, he wasn't sure how he could ever speak to her. Not when he was so hopelessly infatuated...

A strong, masculine voice cut through the soft din of the crowd and Hugh snapped into attention with everyone else, looking at the handsome, tall Alpha who was speaking to the Beta.

“Well, Penberth, I've no intention of stealing any of your dinner's thunder, of course, but I have to admit that the small venue is perfect for a delicate announcement such as the one I wish to make.”

Penberth shrugged and made a sweeping gesture as he looked about the room. “By all means, Ormsby. The floor is yours.”

Hugh's stomach knotted. There was something terribly off about this. In fact, he took a step forward even as this _Ormsby_ character held out his arm and Amelia—his Amelia—nestled her soft, delicate hand into the crook of his elbow.

_Don't touch her._

Ormsby cleared his throat and smiled down at her with a warmth that chilled Hugh to his very bones, his heart about to burst with his sudden desperation. “Miss Watson has bestowed upon me the supreme honor of agreeing to be my wife...and the mother of my heir.”

The world stopped turning. Hugh couldn't even stop to notice Penberth's reaction, or even Cyril's. He felt like he was going to be sick. He must have looked absolutely traumatized when the Alpha's gaze managed to flick over to him and he ran without thinking, slipping into the darkness of the hallway and running until he was outside again. The cold hit him as a welcome friend and he held his head, his temples pounding under his palms while he fled into the garden. He paced over the gravel path, wandering intermittently further from the house while he held his head and his thoughts raced over and over, repeating the scene in the parlor until he could stand it no longer.

With a harsh growl, he stopped moving and his tight fists came to his side while he tipped his head back and released every frustration in his body with a ripping, howling scream.

_This was how it was meant to be. She was never meant for me._

Despite everything, his assurance to himself rang hollow. He couldn't believe something so easily said by that chilling inner voice. It was a voice that he often struggled against—a product of a society that was designed to keep him down, keep him subservient. It wasn't the way Hugh _wanted_ the world to work. He would fight for the rest of his life against most of what it said to him but this? Was this how he would finally be broken? Was this how he would finally learn his place?

_She's a beautiful woman and I'm nothing. I'm less than the dirt beneath her slippers and that's the God's honest truth of it._

“No...” he whispered, closing his eyes so he didn't have to watch the steam from the word rise up into the stars.

_No matter how much I wish. No matter how much I pray. God put me on this Earth as a poor Irish shepherd and I'll never be anything more. I'll certainly never be enough for her..._

His fingers slipped down and touched the small lump in his pocket. His ribbon. Heavily, he sat on one of the cold stone benches, the chill from it rising through his trousers and into his rump, the feeling apt in his state of mind. He held his head in his hands and rested his elbows upon his knees, crunched down and hoping he wouldn't be sick. It was a despair long past the point of tears and all that welled within him was a dry, heaving sorrow.

A low-toned Alpha voice made him tense where he sat.

“You must be Hugh.”

His fingers tightened in his hair until he was pulling it savagely, his frustrations and fury overtaking the depressive emotions that had plagued him.

“Good lord,” Ormsby muttered, “Now that's a dangerous scent. I've never smelled that kind of wrath before, even in Alphas. You must make a decent boxer.”

He ground out his words, thick and weighted. “She...she _spoke of me?_ ”

“She has. I knew it must have been you from your horror in the parlor. That you came so far for her...it's a wonder in and of itself. I must ask myself, nevertheless, why you hadn't responded to her note in New York. Why you never...”

Hugh took one hand from his hair and reached into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled bit of ribbon. He held it out in front of him until he felt the brush of the Alpha's fingers as he took it reverently.

“You've come all the way to England to give her the ribbon you were meant to tie around her gate post?” Ormsby chuckled, his scent in the cold air calm and soothing. “How utterly _romantic_.”

“Romantic,” Hugh mumbled with his own word for it. “ _Foolish_.”

“She's not in love with me,” Ormsby noted. “You've just poor timing, is all. Not to mention that the deck is rather stacked against you. I'm curious...what did you think you were going to do? Give her the ribbon and go home?”

He felt his own fingers tear into his hair again while his teeth gritted and his chest ached. “Why must all o' ye be so bloody _patronizing?_ ” He breathed hard through his mouth. “I love her. That's all that matters te me. I need her to know I didn't mean te let her leave without tellin' 'er.”

He felt the Alpha's weight as he sat on the other end of the bench next to him, the heat from his body radiating out and thawing some inner part of him. “Fascinating. You know, she'll be inconsolable if she can't have you.”

“She's getting married. Te _you_. She should be 'appy as a clam.” He wanted to sob, his voice trembling. “An Alpha...a Lord. Whatever you are.”

“May I touch you, Omega?”

“No.”

He heard the Alpha take in a shuddering breath, holding himself back from the impulse to comfort. In some Alphas it was not such a demanding instinct but in this one, it was enough for him to make the offer and it was something Hugh could not abide.

“Very well,” Ormsby sighed. “Though I advise that you find a way to soothe yourself or you'll be sure to make everyone at dinner fit to run out the doors. You smell like...God, you smell like _blood_.”

He knew that. It had always been his curse to smell like a freshly spilled ewer of blood when he became angered. Other Omegas smelled like must or mildew or even just a hot dampness when dark thoughts invaded their minds but Hugh had always been cursed by God to give out an unholy metallic odor that could induce panic in even the most steadfast of Betas. It was a _dangerous_ scent, as Ormsby had quite aptly noted.

The man stood and turned toward Hugh. “You should gather yourself, little one. Come to dinner.”

When he didn't respond, Ormsby reluctantly left, his steps upon the gravel path retreating in a steady rhythm until Hugh could no longer hear them. He was alone. He was alone and his breath was a hovering cloud around him in the nipping cold of March while the moon shined heedlessly over him. A deep and searing shred of panic hit him as if lightning when his hands shot from his hair to his hips, searching in vain for the ribbon that he had handed to the Alpha.

“No!” he whimpered, his shaking fingers padding over his empty pockets while he shook and shivered in desperation. “No!” He stood, gasping with hot tears welling in his eyes as his ineptitude swept over him in waves. He whirled in place, searching the ground for the crumpled length that he knew—he knew—was still in Ormsby's hands. “ _No!_ ”

His frenzy halted as he was startled by a sanguine blur and he tripped backward, landing heavily and awkwardly on his arse back where he had been sitting on the cold stone of the bench. He was breathing hard and fast, his vision tunneled and the only clear sight in his eyes that of the goddamned _ribbon_ in her hands. _Her_ hands.

He felt his shoulders drop hard and he lifted his gaze to her, catching her indignant expression for only a moment before he felt the sting of her palm on his cheek. He let out a surprised yelp and his head returned slowly with his eyes firmly shut, afraid to watch her turn around and leave, taking the ribbon and the shattered pieces of his heart with her. It was a splitting inside him that cast pearls of immeasurable vitality and soul over the expanse of the garden. As young as he was, he felt every moment of his age as he broke before her, the sting of her hand to his face paltry compared to—

He was jerked by a soft grip and his lips were assaulted by a kind and tentative touch and pressure that forced his heavy lids to open as he yielded unknowingly to her kiss. A delicate whimper was swallowed into her mouth while she owned him completely, earnest at least in her inexperience. His thoughts were blown into a pitiless wind as his eyes rolled back into his skull and he let his body return to her completely, lost to the sensation of her hands upon his neck and in his hair, the soft fabric of her gown under his fingers, the way the inner part of her knee was nestled against his thigh through her skirts and his trousers as she knelt on the bench, nearly straddling him in her fervor. Her lips and tongue dancing while her warm, wet heat overtook his mind and body and the glittering shards of his soul. He moaned, grasping at her while she pressed into him, the soft swell of her breasts concealed by her bodice gently pressing against him while she took what she needed from him, heedless to the cold and the night.

When she pulled from him finally, he felt as if he had somehow experienced some kind of distant rebirth—a phoenix rising from the ashes of his humiliation and his potent, horrible grief. It had to be a dream. Every bit of it had to be some dream that he would wake from in his bed, curled in a nest of heavy wool blankets and feather pillows before he faced the rising sun that cast an eerie orange glow over the weighty coats of his father's sheep, shadows long over emerald meadows. But he could see her. Her long, dark lashes fluttered over her lightly freckled cheeks, the tips of her white teeth barely visible between her parted and swollen cherry lips. He could _see_ her. He could _smell_ her.

“I'm...” His mouth and the rest of his body felt numb though not from the cold. “I'm so...I'm so _sorry_.” A wave of guilt rocked him where he sat and he mumbled as his eyes fluttered. “ _Oh, my God._ _I am heartily sorry for 'aving offended Thee...and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all-good and deserving of my love. I firmly resolve, with the 'elp of Thy grace, to sin no more and to_ _avoid the near occasions of sin_...”

Her warm palms rasped over the sides of his jaw and her thumbs tugged at the corners of his mouth while he babbled. “ _Hugh,_ ” she whispered.

“If it takes a life of purity just for a moment with ye, gal, I'd throw myself into your arms and forever thereafter live as a man does when he can 'ave no more joy in 'is heart.”

She kissed him again but there was more to it than her desperation. There was a calling for him. There was a soothing and a healing in her lips that beckoned him to run to her and seek her warmth and her compassion and most importantly, her honest forgiveness that had seemed so far out of his reach. It was a calling to come _home_.

He breathed against those restorative lips in veneration of her while he held her tight and close, pained at the thought of letting her slip away. Her warm and supple figure glowed in his mind as a goddess before him, breathtaking and wonderful and everything he'd dreamed of her. “I'm in _love_ with you, Amelia. I'm 'opeless with it. Sick with it. _Mad_ with it. It's unforgivable. 'Ere on Earth as it is in 'Eaven. God and my love forgive me, I'm a wretched thing for my sins and I've no excuse. To love one is to forsake the other...and I love _you_.”

She pushed forward again, her kiss weak with her emotion which swirled about him in their embrace, a fragrance that placed an unfamiliar urgency inside him.

“I know not yer intentions, gal, but I at least know mine. I've told ye what I came here te tell ye and I've nothing else te confess.”

“Why?” she asked against his lips. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I didn't mean to. I set off right away for yer uncle's house and I...I found myself in a bit o' trouble. I'd 'ad a ribbon and everything...this ribbon. Just for you. When I'd heard you'd left New York, I...” He felt a salty tear escape his eye and her thumb gently smear it against the scar that ran the width of his face. “I was...devastated. The same when I 'eard yer Alpha sayin' 'e was fit te marry ye. I can't tell ye, Amelia, how lost I am. If ye've no intention te love me, gal, please tell me now. Please tell me so I might go up te me nest upstairs and sleep away my sorrows and pray for my absolution.”

She gently eased backwards enough so she could wipe her thumbs under his eyes again while he trembled before her, holding in sobs. “Do you believe that your love is a sin?”

“There's no belief about it, gal, it's a clear fact...”

“And you would turn your heart from your Church...for me?”

“Ye've bewitched me,” he whispered, shuddering. “I'd risk anything for ye.”

“Your eternal soul, Hugh?” Her brows were knitting together in the middle, concern etched into her beautiful face.

“Don't doubt my resolution, gal. I've made my choice. I'd become a martyr for love...for you...any day.”

She touched her forehead against his while she held his cheeks in her palms, her thumbs still brushing lightly over his scar on either cheek. “You've come all the way to London from New York to give me this ribbon and to tell me that you're in love with me...and you'd no way of knowing how I would receive you. Hugh, you've surprised me. And I should tell you with the utmost of immediacy that you have not wasted your trip. I found myself returning to England with a very much broken heart...”

“I didn't mean for it...”

“I know. I know.” She shushed him gently and allowed for him to pull her closer, cuddling for comfort and for soothing. One of her hands moved to the back of his neck and her deft fingers pressed at the sensitive muscles there, the motion inviting a steady flow of calm into his mind. It was an Alpha trick, something she must have learned from Ormsby. He moved to stop her.

“Ye're goin' te marry him.”

“Nathan wished to protect me. Provide for me. There was no reason to refuse him.”

“Is there now?”

“Of course...a broken engagement is much less of a scandal than my running away with you. He will not lose sleep over it.”

“Does 'e love ye?”

“As an old friend. He is my benefactor. My ruling Alpha.”

Hugh felt his heart flutter as he sniffed and gathered his wits. “He's got to 'ave some expectations of ye. Everyone keeps askin' me...if ye love me...what will I do with ye? I 'adn't figured that part out just yet.”

She blinked, backing away from him several inches before her startled expression shifted into a set of giggles.

He grumbled. “I don't see how it's very funny, Amelia. I can't buy ye pretty dresses and give ye everything ye deserve te have. I'm a working man...I've no riches to speak of and I live in a hotel suite...I've no true connection with my family's name, I'm a wastrel...”

She was still giggling and tears were glittering in the corners of her eyes. “Dear me, Hugh,” she laughed. “You've forgotten something.”

He frowned. He couldn't think of anything that might have slipped his mind, woolly-headed though he was at how vexed he had become in his weary grief. How could he have missed something? How could he have forgotten something so important? Something that had to do with Amelia. Everything about her and their circumstances was of the utmost importance—

She shifted and he was once more aware of her thigh against his hip. “You've forgotten that we are _both_ Omegas. You don't have to do all the thinking for us, you know. We're both clever.” She gazed at him warmly. “If I were to never see the inside of another ballroom but were to wake in your arms every morning...I think that should be quite satisfactory.”

“Ye wouldn't come to resent me?”

“Why should I?” she asked pleasantly. “It will no doubt be difficult sometimes, I am certain. Especially if we are caught by some unsavory folk who don't believe in this sort of thing...but New York is such a diverse place and...and I don't think I should mind living in a hotel. Perhaps I can find some _raison d'etre_ there. I play the pianoforte quite well and I'm not too shabby at baking. Perhaps...perhaps housekeeping? I could very well do laundry or sewing and I don't mind working...”

He caught her hands in his and kissed her soft fingertips. “Ye're a gentlewoman, Miss Watson...I couldn't ask that of ye.”

“I'm not going to ask your permission, Hugh,” she chided. “If I'm to live without an Alpha, that means I'll never ask permission again in my life. Not even from you.”

He rubbed the backs of her knuckles over his nose and his forehead. “I'd plead with ye...I'll do everything in my power...I'll work my fingers down to bone if that's what it takes for ye te be happy...”

“ _Hugh_ ,” she breathed, drawing his eyes to hers in the silver moonlight. “I'll be happy as long as I'm _with you_.”

He could say no more to her. There could be no more arguments. There could be nothing between them aside from this unrelenting devotion. This passion he felt like the burn of cold Irish rain in Spring.

_Sheep in the field, bleating out a strange and mournful song. The scent of dry hay in the loft. The stone of the fences beneath his poorly cobbled shoes. Rain. Rain. Rain. The overcast sky and the sound of the sea as it lapped and rocked at the cliffs of the Irish coast. His Oma's touching sighs between his gentle Gaelic verses of prayer whispered deep in the dark night along with the bite of a freshly snuffed candle._

“ _Oh, Amelia,_ ” he mumbled. “ _You're my home. I am nowhere without you._ ”

She chuffed out a touched and quiet laugh. “My silly Omega. Who knew you were so romantic?”

He grinned and spoke against her mouth before he kissed her again. “The real question is how I e'er made it seem as though I weren't.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gah. Hugh is so melodramatic. The rest of this is just gonna be porn and chicken. And by "chicken" I mean resolving how they're gonna live happily ever after.
> 
> **Also:** Next project is an A/A, M/M story set in the American West. If you're interested in that, I've been casually working on it. Probably not going to be putting it up in the "Victorian ABO" series because, well, even though it's the exact same time period, "Victorian" does sort of imply _England_. So it might be a bit of an outlier.


	14. Chapter 14

It was perhaps better that they weren't seated next to each other. It would let her breathe from how giddy she had become. Nathan was across from her and fortunately, the cause for the alteration in her scent was misunderstood from the get-go. Lady Griggsby was the first to comment on it.

“Oh my dear, your aroma is simply _sparkling_. It is like a fine champagne and enough to make an Alpha drunk upon you. You must simply be _swimming_ in excitement. I know I was when I was first engaged. What a delight, indeed to have your Alpha here with you and to be so familiar with him. Tell me, how did you two come to the decision? I suppose you thought it would be practical at the first but just by your scent, anyone can tell you've blossomed this into a romance.”

She couldn't hold back her amused giggle. “Oh, I suppose you must be right.” She flashed her eyes up to Nathan, finding him staring at her with a warm smile, eager to follow her lead. “When Nathan first broached the subject, I must be honest, I balked. I thought...perhaps I knew him _overly well_...but as anyone should be able to see, we are quite well suited. So far, anyhow.”

“Oh dear,” Nathan crooned in his low voice. “That sounds as if you may have some doubts.”

“Don't I always?”

He grinned. “It is an Omega's right to be capricious, I suppose. Nothing much to be done about it. If you are to ever change your mind, you need only tell me and I shall be sure to announce to a disappointed ton that you have abandoned me in my hour of need.”

Amelia laughed, sipping her wine. “And what need is this?”

“An _heir_ , dear one.”

“Oh, quite right!” she blurted, unable to stifle another giggle. “I suppose I had almost forgotten that part of the arrangement. I shouldn't. That's very much to do with me. Although, it is not as if you could not gather yourself another Omega from the London balls if you were so strapped for one. There are even a few of us single Omegas _here_.”

Lord Rainton leaned forward on her right, having listened to every word. “I say, there are a few of you but only one I'm keen to discover.”

She cast him a side-long glance with curiosity while he smirked wolfishly.

“Do you suppose he's much like Muir?”

 _Oh no he doesn't._ Amelia straightened in her seat and quirked her brows, feeling terribly saucy in her defense of her beloved Hugh. “I suppose he is probably _much_ like Muir. Willing to take a good jab at you if you were forward enough with him. Perhaps you feel inclined to tempt the devil?”

Lady Griggsby's voice lowered though she might not have bothered. Hugh was engrossed in a conversation with Edwin and Cyril at the other end of the table. “Devil, he could be. His face is...quite unusual. I can tell he _used_ to be pretty, though I can't say much for his breeding. His features even before he was ruined show a lack of nobility. Wherever do you think Penberth came across such a creature?”

Amelia felt nearly attacked herself and she drew up even further while Nathan cocked his brow, interested wholly in the turn of events and in conversation. “Mr. Muir,” she started delicately, “is native to New York...a place that is particularly diverse. It should not be a shock at all that he should invite former friends to his new home, should it? After all, he himself is purportedly of questionable background though we no longer speak of _him_ in such a manner.”

Lady Griggsby gave pause, staring at Amelia as if she were trying to determine whether or not the girl was being impertinent or not. It didn't matter, Lord Rainton spoke first, entirely amused.

“I don't care much about his _breeding_ , My Lady. He seems an interesting little chap indeed and, if he does happen to mirror Muir in his personality then I should think him a spirited little demon. He certainly is tiny though I imagine it is not only his fists that could lay a man down.”

Nathan hummed a bit while he smiled to disguise a chuckle. “I suppose you're speaking of his wit, then Rainton?”

“Right,” he agreed.

“Of course,” Amelia replied dryly. “I'll have you all know that I met him while I was in New York to see Uncle Howard and he's quite intelligent. Why, he was just speaking to me before dinner of how Mr. Penberth has been teaching him how to run an estate and he's been doing so independently at Hollyvale for several months.” She took a decisive bite of her duck while she nodded, pleased with the information she could give and freely boast about on his behalf. Hugh would never even think of doing so and so it was her prerogative, naturally.

Rainton's words were incredulous. “You don't say.”

Lady Griggsby put her hand to her breast. “How interesting. What a useful skill to have. I wonder what would have put Penberth up to such a thing. I suppose that would be quite useful if he were inclined to stay after Penberth inherits the title and is to live at Belcourt. He _will_ need an estate manager...”

“Indeed,” Nathan mused, catching her eyes with a meaningful expression. “I say. Having an estate manager about would be quite freeing for any gentleman who was interested in something less conventional. An interesting prospect.”

Rainton rolled his eyes. “Ormsby. Your plants again?”

“Should you like to hear of them?” He brightened, his smile widening.

“Spare him, Nathan,” Amelia shook her head. “He's a wasted effort. You can show me your latest pursuits when we're back from London. That is if the servants haven't destroyed any of them.” She wanted to laugh but she was most certain that Nathan had been thinking much deeper than his plants. Scheming perhaps, somehow.

The rest of dinner went on predictably and she could hardly wait when the Omegas were scooted from the table to allow for the Beta men and Alphas to have a cigar with some brandy at the table. Of course, as Cyril took them all, waddling his way, into the drawing room, it couldn't be said that everything was as conservative as it normally was at such events. Cyril had immediately gone to the side cupboard and poured a generous glass of brandy, handing it to Hugh without preamble. He turned around with the decanter in his hand.

“I pray that none of you will expect me to join you. The midwife tells me I'm not allowed to pickle the little ones. If anyone else would like some brandy, this house is not about to deny any Omega from their drink.”

“Aye, that's the way,” Hugh agreed, taking a long gulp of it.

Cyril eyed her. “Amelia?”

Her cheeks grew pink from the informality of her name from his lips. She bit her lip and then nodded, heedless of the interested gazes about her. There was no doubt this was going to be circling about the ton on the morrow. She accepted a glass from him and took a sip of it, relishing the burn.

“Well I never!” her mother harped. “ _Amelia!_ ” she hissed.

She held her glass to her chest and frowned. “Oh...do be quiet, mother. You're making a scene. You act as if I've never sipped a brandy before.”

Lady Halwill stepped forward and cautiously took a half a glass from Cyril, prompting several other curious Omegas to do the same. Amelia's mother was the only hold out until the rest of them had stared at her long enough that she muttered a strange oath and reluctantly allowed the pregnant boxer to pour her a small glass. They settled in easily and as they sipped, they chatted openly, spread about the drawing room upon the chairs and settees, comfortable in the soft lamplight and the flickering oranges and yellows of the fire. With the cold spring rains outside, it was cozy inside and the drawing room was pleasantly scented with the mingling sweetness of the happy Omegas. The bulk of it was like warm brown sugar and vanilla, made interesting every so often with a glitter of jasmine, a sweep of magnolia, or a prick of cinnamon. They were mostly tipsy by the time the Alphas wandered their way in and Amelia had repositioned herself on the floor near Hugh's feet as he sat on the settee, his fingers covertly coming to play with the curls of her hair at her nape.

She yearned for his touch—more than just this. She wished that she could be outside again in the cold, heating herself with his fiery, experienced kisses.

 _Oh dear._ She tamped down the thoughts, conscious that it was perhaps possible for some of the others to scent any tang of arousal. It wouldn't do to be caught out so plainly. When her eyes shifted to Cyril, fat and content in his over-stuffed chair, she wasn't surprised to note that he was giving Hugh a smug smirk. She should have known the two of them would have known each other. She should have guessed that they would have some kind of collusion if they had. It hadn't even occurred to her to ask Hugh if he might have known Cyril and now that it was plain as day, she wonder what the odds of such a twist of fate could have been.

She hoped, as she drank again, that the others were too engrossed in conversation to notice the way he gently played with those sensitive little hairs on the back of her neck, teasing them between his fingers and tugging _just so_ to make gooseflesh appear all over her body.

“And 'ow are ye, pretty gal?” Hugh asked and it took her a moment to realize that his smooth voice was directed to her.

She turned just slightly to look up at him where he smiled down at her. “I'm quite well, Mr. McCowell.”

“Mr. McCowell is a crank of a man who herds sheep outside a tiny little Irish village out in the wilds of green.”

“And how many sheep do you herd, then?” she joked.

He laughed and his fingers brushed against the side of her neck, causing gooseflesh to rise again and alarmingly sent a shiver through her that she felt tighten her nipples under her bodice. Oh he _was_ a devil, she thought, taking another rather deep sip of her brandy.

“Gracious,” Edwin mused in his mild tone as he and the Alphas walked in and took up their spots about the room. “I should have known my husband would be a terrible influence upon all the fine ladies of the ton. It is a good thing that there our number is not more numerous than it is or I should have a difficult time wrangling all of these cheery Omegas.”

The Alphas were giving queer looks to their contented spouses but, to Amelia, they were all quite _amused_ by the turn of events and the coy glances the Omegas were giving them were probably all the better for their curious moods. Omegas did not often embrace liquor but what Alpha could argue against such a plethora of joyous scent?

 _Not one_.

Cyril was innocently sipping upon a glass of water, purposefully not meeting any Alpha eyes as if guileless and unassuming. She narrowed her eyes at his sheer audacity and cast Nathan a strong glance.

The Alpha took the hint. “Perhaps everyone should like to have some entertainment? Miss Watson is a dream on the pianoforte and I know for sure it would be lovely to hear her grace the keys.”

“Oh yes!” Lady Halwill chirped. “Please do. I've never been much good at it myself so I much appreciate anyone who can play.”

“Very well,” she smiled, rising gracefully from her spot and purposefully not looking back at Hugh while she sat herself down and began a soft melody. It was only about halfway through the score that she could not stand to be alone in the music any longer and she looked up to find him staring at her—of course—over his brandy, his eyes half-lidded and his crooked mouth turned up at each side like a scheming little cat. She could feel every flick of those chocolate brown eyes even as they could only drink in her face, her hair, her shoulders, and maybe the tops of her breasts where they just barely peeked from the lace of her neckline. She felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny, her heart filled with the sight of him.

It was all she could do for the rest of the night to linger closer to Nathan and deny herself Hugh's delicious scent which, much like Lady Griggsby had noted about hers, seemed to _sparkle_. Merely being around it left her with the sensation of fine bubbles tickling in her nose and over her lips. When guests began to retire to their coaches, she knew her nervousness was getting the better of her, even with a glass or two of brandy in her stomach. Nathan's steady touch over her nape while he pulled her closer than was probably proper calmed her with his whisper.

“ _Don't fret, little one. I'll not have you parted for longer than necessary._ ”

Her mother gave a little harumpf at his familiar touch upon her and he sniffed at her indignantly as if to tell her to mind her own. Amelia couldn't help but find the other Omega with her eyes to give him a reassuring smile before Nathan ushered her and her mother outside to their coach. She took long, soothing breaths while she wandered down the walk, cozy in her heavy woolen fur-lined cloak. Nestled next to Nathan, she was eager to know what the Alpha's plans were and practically wriggling with impatience to know what he had in store for her. She most certainly was not a fan of propriety's standards for how much time she had gotten to spend with Hugh and how many others had been in earshot of anything they could have said to each other of great importance. She had been atingle with the need to touch him, caress him... _love him._

Her mother was frowning at her, no doubt annoyed at the somewhat spicy arousal she was emitting with thoughts of finally ridding Hugh of his cravat and his shirt, running her fingers and palms over his bare chest, feeling his warm hands upon her—stripping her of her clothes...

“Do _contain_ yourself, Amelia!” her mother snapped. “Your Alpha is _present._ ”

Nathan bubbled up a laugh and it tapered naturally. “No need to bother for my sake. Lose yourself in your thoughts, Miss Watson. An imaginative Omega is a creative Omega, that is one sure thing. And you, my dear, have an artful soul.” He smiled broadly at her.

Her mother snapped at him as well. “Could you at least _pretend_ to be decent?!”

“Perhaps I should ask the same of you?” he queried mildly.

She drew up with a startled gasp, her jaw gaping. She kept a stunned and embarrassed silence for the rest of the ride back to Nathan's townhouse and retreated to her room as soon as they arrived—a convenient fact that Amelia was almost certain was in Nathan's plan all along. Especially when he pulled her aside again.

“I've taken some...liberties...with your accommodations this evening, Amelia. I had hoped that you wouldn't mind. Your room was a tad bit too close your your mother's for my liking and I assumed for yours. I've had the staff switch you to the far end of the house.”

Her heart dropped. The far end of the house. At least in her current room, there was a chance that a man as resourceful as Hugh could climb up the tree near to her window and somehow get in but the _far_ side? This did _not_ sound like something she would be keen to agree to. “Nathan,” she began, making the best attempt she could at keeping her tone benign.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he replied, putting up a finger. “The bed is much more comfortable and it's bigger, not that you'll need much bigger. You're so very small...” He frowned and touched his lips with the very same finger while he walked with her up the stairs. “Anyhow, I hope you'll find that everything is in order just how you like it. Cuthbert should have seen to the matter so nothing should be untidy or out of place. You know how he is. Rather persnickety, I should say.”

“Nathan—”

“Well, here we are. Goodnight, Amelia. I'll see you in the morning for breakfast? No. Perhaps not. Perhaps I'll send it to your room. You know, and perhaps I'll take your mother out for a little while tomorrow. I'll get her a hat. That will smooth her ruffled feathers, now won't it?”

“Nathan, I—that doesn't...I...”

He smiled at her with his lips tightly closed and his brows high while he gently, though firmly, guided her to her door and opened it for her, pushing her inside with his fingers to her back. Muddled, she stumbled a bit into the room which was dim, lit only by firelight and a few scattered candles. As soon as she heard the latch click behind her, she scented _exactly_ why Nathan had been keen to place her in the farthest bedroom. That which was usually saved for the most important of guests for its regal wine-colored motif, the rich hues splashed over the walls and the counterpane.

She gave pause, her gray eyes searching through the dim light until she found him on the other side of the wide bed, his fingers fiddling nervously with his cravat while he stared at her, his expression not only reverent but terrified.

“Hugh?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I...erm...I found meself fair whisked off my feet. I suppose when the servants are all inside on yer mischief, ye'ave a better time of it.” He laughed nervously, his hands shaking. “Pardon me, Amelia. I'm shakin' like a man gone te the noose.”

Mentally, she forgave Nathan. He'd kept his promise and in spectacular fashion. It _had_ been a little bit of a winding way back to the town house, she thought. And mother wouldn't have noticed with being as insulted as she'd been. Of course Penberth and Cyril would have been able to dispatch a coach with Hugh and get him here just in time for Cuthbert to make the arrangements if provided with a note.

She drew up across the bed from him and brought her fingertips together at her tummy. “I suppose, since you're here, you're not averse to...”

“To lettin' ye have yer way with me?”

She breathed a small laugh through her nose. “To...being with me. Tonight. And for many nights after...”

“Amelia, I should ask ye how ye could even ask...I would love nothing more.” Vacantly, he touched his forehead and signed the cross over himself. “I'm at a loss with ye, love. It's like bein' with ye is not like bein' with any other gal... I've been many times a lover but I've ne'er _loved_ nor _been loved._ ”

“Until now,” she murmured before she changed the subject. “Since you've so much experience in the matter, darling, could I bother you for a favor?”

His eyes lit at the prospect of being useful.

“Could you come round to me and help me with my ribbons?”

Hugh eagerly moved around the bed and put his hands to use, getting the small practicals out of the way at her back. “I'm glad ye don't 'ave those tiny buttons on this gown. I think my 'ands are near useless. But I can do ribbons, aye.”

She felt her bodice loosen and she turned around suddenly to face him, catching him with her gloved hand on the silk of the shoulder of his waistcoat, capturing him in the elegant light while his wide eyes drank her in as if she were his liquor. “Are your lips quite useless as well, Hugh? Or do you feel capable of—”

Amelia didn't quite form the next words, cut off by his fervent kiss and the hands he grasped her with, one seeking purchase in her still-pinned hair and the other gripping at the fabric of her skirts around her thigh, pulling her close to him until she could feel his tension and his undisguised arousal pressing against her with urgency. His kiss was a sensation she could never compare, his spice a scent she could not live without. When he pushed his tongue into her mouth, she couldn't even make a sound of any surprise, so contented was she. She felt as though she were a candle, her wick every passionate moment and impression and _touch_ he gave her, melting her into an unformed mess in his arms.

His mouth was gentle but demanding, opening her to every caress of his tongue and his lips, the sensual sounds of his soft flesh meeting hers wet and erotic, sending her stomach into a flutter of sheer abundant anticipation. Oh those lips were _not_ useless. Not in any stretch of the imagination, she thought happily. Every trace of his nervousness seemed to wear away by the second as if his anxieties were imperfections laid to waste upon a grindstone while he continuously asked her for her mercy, to allow for his mouth to seek her beauty and her soul as if he could taste it through her breath.

When he finally broke his own spell upon her, he lingered with those soft, swollen lips against her, gently placing feather-light kisses upon the corners of her mouth and then the sharp edge of her jaw and then—oh deliciously—he placed one devotedly sensual touch at the tender flesh just behind her ear.

“ _Hugh_ ,” she whispered, half gasping. She wanted to beg him. She wanted to plead with him. She almost wanted to _demand_ him to ravish her. To _ruin_ her. However a woman could be ruined and devastated by a man in a room alone with him, that was just what she wanted. Despite that in polite society, an Omega could not _truly_ taint her, she wanted everything he could offer her. She wanted everything he was fit to give her. His body. His heart. His _everything_. The sheer greed in her made her laugh while she moaned, dizzy from her need.

“Tell me what ye'd 'ave me do, Omega,” Hugh mumbled, his hands tightening, his hips slowly undulating to stroke his arousal against her thigh through layers of annoying fabric. She couldn't wait to have him naked beneath her. To finally see him bare and in want of her. It was just what she'd been waiting for ever since she'd seen him in Jolene's bedroom after his bath.

It took every piece of her willpower to step back from him, her eyes heavily lidded and her mouth hungry for more of him. “If would humor me, Hugh, I should like to have you...nude.”

He tore at his cravat, fumbling with his buttons, wrestling with every piece of his clothes until he had stripped himself completely in front of her, gooseflesh over his skin though she was unsure if it was produced as a result of her gaze or from any chill that might have been present in the room. She roved her eyes over him while she held her hands to her chest, her face heating while she studied his well-formed body. As was typical for most Omegas, he was mostly limited to a small amount of soft duck fuzz over his chest and the bulk of it a clean blonde which tapered lower until it thickened and darkened to nestle his...

She swallowed, gulping a bit at his manhood which jutted upward and was certainly _more_ than she had expected. She had always thought, through the chitter-chatter of the maids, that Omegas were meant to have _small..._

Amelia opened her mouth but Hugh interrupted her.

“If yer wonderin' about it, there's...uh...a reason Cyril kept me around. It's nowhere near what an Alpha could give ye but it'll do the job right. I 'ope it's not too crude te say...anyhow...” If it were not so dim in the room, she thought she would probably have seen a hard blush in his face while he rubbed the back of his head with his palm. “If it's...if it's not enough for ye, I guarantee I've got more skill than with just—”

She cut him off simply by peeling away her dress. She wore no corset and when the shell of her bodice slipped downward and she had undone the tapes of her drawer, her clothes simply fell away into a puddle at her ankles. Naked save for the pearls and pins in her hair, she straightened and looked up at him, grateful that she was to find his gooseflesh was _not_ from any chill, the room in fact quite warm. He was staring at her with his mouth open before he did something quite curious.

He fell to his knees. “Oh, Amelia...” he breathed, bringing his touch to her hips to guide her against the bed until she was half-perched upon the edge of it. “I'll 'ave ye spread these pretty thighs for me, if yer keen to 'ave my face between 'em.”

She squeaked in amusement and shock. “You mean to do _what_?”

He grinned up at her and spread her open while she leaned back upon her hands, watching his roguish expression while he explained himself. “Omega, my Amelia...” She felt herself throb at the touch of his breath against the milky flesh of her inner thighs. “Ye've got me so I can't think straight. Lookin' down at me with yer pearls and your pinks and the sweet musk of your lust...”

“Do not embarrass me,” she whined, turning her face away from him.

“I can't 'elp myself. But I will _help myself..._ ” With that, he leaned forward and she felt his fingers against her, boldly opening that secret space she had only ever explored on her own in the depths of night when she was safe and alone and able to have those lonely fantasies. He sucked in a deep breath, leaving the air around her exposed flesh cold before he heated it in the wet cave of his mouth, the sensation he drew from her like water from primed pump.

“ _Ahn!_ ” She hardly registered the sound as having been emitted from her own throat as she shook and trembled, the pleasure he brought her with even such subtle motions of lips and tongue near to unbearable. She felt herself welling up, her body practically weeping with the joy of his touch. He drank her, his tongue pushing against her core, _into her_ while she let loose a series of mindless panting cries. “ _Ahn! Ahhh! Ayuh!_ ” Her legs inadvertently moved to close and Hugh placed his hands upon them, keeping them open with a steady and firm pressure that mounted with her strain to close them. “ _Oh God! Hugh! I can't! I can't!_ ”

How had it come to this? How could she at once be a sensible woman and yet be so lost to sensation? How could _this_ bring so much painful pleasure—so much that she should be compelled to burst with it? It was as if she thought that screaming could help her but it could do nothing for this ripening tension inside her that whipped against all of her willpower and rendered her into nothing but a purely physical being and there was _nothing_ that existed or had _ever_ existed save Hugh's maddening tongue which probed _inside her_ before tearing her to pieces in a single heavy stroke upward until he could seal his lips around the part of her that—

“ _Hugh!_ ” she shrieked, kicking out her leg and making contact with nothing while her head flung backwards and her back arched in her vigorous, shaking release. “Ah...huhnnn...” she breathed, curling her leg behind his shoulders while he drew from her, satisfied with himself. She had experienced a release before. It was not only an innocent exploration of her fingers in the depths of her lonely sheets but _this_? Nothing like _this._ For then, it was only a desperate need that she herself could fulfill and here...it was as if his soul had _touched hers._ She fell back upon the bed, boneless. “Oh...” she sighed, her voice trembling mightily. When she felt him stand, she cracked her eye and lifted her legs to form a mantle about his hips with her thighs, locking him in place, his manhood only inches from that throbbing, tender place he had blessed with such pleasure. Her voice was husky. “ _Tell me you have more for me._ ”

“A needful woman,” he smiled. He took a step forward and pressed the length of himself between the folds of her wet and squirming mound and he teased her. “I've got a lot more for ye, my Omega.”

“Darling,” she groaned. “Don't tease me. Not when I'm naked. This is not how I planned this to go...”

“And 'ow had ye planned it?”

“I had thought that I would have you beneath me. That perhaps I would be able to look at you properly all prostrate between my legs.”

“There are plenty more nights if ye'd rather I plow ye where ye lay here. I know I've got ye a bit lazy after...”

“Oh yes. I am so very lazy now. My bones feel like they're made of pudding. How dare you, you devilish man. Where in the world did you ever learn to put your mouth on a person's nethers?! How barbaric.” She was grinning and laughing, thoroughly tickled by the idea and completely befuddled at herself for not thinking of it first.

“Ye've forgotten my penchant for toffers, Miss Amelia. I've learned a _lot_ o' things from Miss Molly's girls. Not the least o' which is how to please a woman with any number of pieces o' myself.” As if to make a point, he steadily leaned forward to create a rising pressure upon her pulsing need, an invitation for her to take what she needed from him. All of him.

“I believe I should like to discover all the ways you profess to know. But perhaps some mystery can be discovered tomorrow...I do love to draw out the suspense, even if I am the one who feels the most of its sword. Though tonight...I...” She flushed to her toes. “I should like to feel the most of...”

“Of _my_ sword? You are a minx, my love.”

“It shall not hurt, shall it?”

He shrugged one shoulder and eased his hand between them, his thumb gently dipping into the wetness leaking from her body before he swiped it over the tender spot at the tip of her to cause a rippling shiver, rekindling her ardent desire for him. “Some o' the gals say it 'urts at the first...but Miss Jo always says they weren't slick enough. I suppose that there's some truth to it as there's a little strip o' skin that can break. As I understand, it's not the same for every girl.”

“Well I'm not afraid of it,” she said despite herself. “I'd like to know what all the fuss is about.”

He tilted his head and with an affectionate smile, he put his hand again between them and opened her, guiding himself until the tip of him was rimmed by the ring of her. With his hands on either of her thighs, he slowly eased into her while she thoughtfully took stock of every feeling the motion created. When he was as deep as he could be, flush against her, soft and pliant as she was, his body gave small tremors. She experimentally squeezed him and his breath hitched. He gave out a small whine and he frowned deeply while his eyes closed—the image of him lost to his body's pleasure in the golden flickering firelight something she thought she might treasure forever.

She whispered up at him. “Is it...is it much like what it feels for me?”

He opened one eye and lifted his hand to caress her cheek with his thumb. “If what ye feel is bloody fantastic...then yes.”

“What can I do for you?” She squeezed him again inside her.

“Ah!” He bent over her, curling over her body and letting her arms come around him. He kissed her again, his giving heat a succulent temptation. With a whisper into her mouth, he sighed. “If ye're keen to it, ye can tug my hair a bit...”

“It won't hurt you?”

“Oh it will.”

She smiled against his lips and buried her hand into his short hair, tufts escaping from between her fingers while she pulled. She was timid about it up until he began moving his hips, withdrawing and thrusting into her damp heat and somehow recreating a _different_ sort of tension. She had to admit that compared to what he had done to her previously, that jittering and stuttering sort of release, this was nearly _underwhelming,_ but as he continued, she felt the pressure begin to mount again. It was aided in no small way by the exquisite sounds that emanated from his throat, breathy and wild and tinged with desperation. She breathed hard through her mouth, tensing and squeezing him in rhythm with his movements. Determined to reach her peak, she matched his short sounds, the two of them together light and unassuming in the taking of their pleasure.

“ _Amelia..._ _Mo ghrá go deo..._ ”

“ _Hugh!_ ”

“I'm...I'm gonna...” A reaching and difficult shudder racked him and he shook against her, his breath hard in her ear while she pulled relentlessly on his hair, the wet, sweaty strands of it clumping in her grip. He pushed as far into her as he could until his shaking abated and he pulled out of her grasp, dropping again to his knees to spread her with his thumbs and seal his lips around her until she moaned and writhed her way into another gratifying closure, her fingers fisted into the counterpane while she panted out his name.

“My love,” he told her, wobbling a bit while he stood, “I 'ope yer not too much like pudding this time...”

“My _bones,_ ” she grinned, staring up at the glimmering light from the candles and the hearth upon the ceiling. “You've turned me into a useless Omega. Limp and well-loved...”

“And 'ow will I get ye under these sheets with me?” He tilted his head at her and comically put his hands upon his naked hips. “Do ye not want a good cuddle as ye fall asleep?”

“Shall you let me scent you as much as I wish?”

“Omega,” he chided with a cocked brow. “Ye've got the run o' me, ye know. Every bit o' me. I'll ne'er tell ye no. 'Ow could I deprive me light and me love?”

Amelia lifted herself, still perched on the edge of the bed, and began to meticulously take the pins out of her hair, maintaining eye-contact with her handsome boxer throughout while she handed them to him, dropping each perfect pearl into a hand he had outstretched for her convenience. When she was finished, she used both of her hands to curl his fingers around the pearls. “On the table, if you would, Omega?”

“O'Course,” he grinned. Before he turned around again, she was crawling under the covers, almost delighted by the coolness of the sheets for the warmth in all her body. “Oh ye saucy girl, takin' my side o' the bed.”

“Oh no, this is _my_ side of the bed. You must be mistaken.”

“I can see already, we're going t'ave a problem 'ere.”

She giggled at him while he crawled into the bed beside her and full-out shrieked in laughter when he covered her in his own body and pressed tickling kisses over her neck and shoulders, nipping and growling playfully while the heat of his body warmed both her and the sheets.

“I suppose,” he whispered under her ear, pressing his nose against her throat and pulling in a hard breath of her scent, “Ye can 'ave my side of the bed if it makes ye happy.”

“Or we could each take a turn,” she suggested.

“Or we could do that...” He pulled up to kiss her and submitted when she gently guided his neck to her nose, lifting his chin thoughtfully to present it to her. “I knew I loved ye for a reason, clever girl.”

“Mmm,” she sleepily replied, nuzzling him until she could position them to cuddle more effectively, a way that she could sleep with her face in the swoop of his neck and shoulder. “I'll be more clever...” she mumbled, “in the morning...”

“Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are. So close to happily ever after.
> 
>  **Up Next:** Chicken. And maybe some porn.
> 
> I hope everyone's had a lovely week. To anyone who's down in Texas near the coast, please be careful, take care of yourselves, and take care of each other. **The Texas Tribune has compiled a list of ways to help, if you are not located near to Houston, scroll down to find a cause for donation if you so choose.[Hurricane Harvey Relief/Services](https://www.texastribune.org/2017/08/28/hurricane-harvey-relief-efforts-how-help/)**


	15. Chapter 15

When Hugh awoke, it was to a sudden light shining through his lids and he groaned with displeasure, turning his body about under luxurious silken sheets to seek the comforting warmth of the body next to him. He found her, smiling while his sleepy brain reminded him that the soft and beautifully scented woman beside him was _Amelia Watson_ and that he _loved her._ He sighed in his contentedness and snaked an arm over her supple skin, cuddling close to her in order to bury his nose into her neck and fall right back into sleep.

“Well aren't you two such a sight? Cute as a button the both of you.”

His eyes snapped open while his shoulders tensed and drew up. He struggled to sit up, startled to find the dark-haired servant who'd met him at the door the previous night standing beside the window where he'd just opened the curtains. “Oi?” Hugh vocalized, confused and rubbing his eyes. “Wot in...”

The servant approached the bed and gave a slight bow while Amelia stirred next to him. “I'm Cuthbert. I didn't _intend_ to intrude so horribly but Nathan's gone out with Mrs. Watson and it's imperative that I have you both dressed and fed before she gets back. The woman can get suspicious over the slightest things becoming out of place and you, little Omega, are _most certainly_ out of place.”

The words stung far more than they should have. “Well oi then, to the devil with ye too, ye tick.”

Cuthbert frowned but ignored him, turning about to get their clothes sorted, surprising Hugh by pulling over one of Cyril's outfits he'd been given. “Mr. Penberth graciously sent some of your clothes along to aid in our charade. Now...Amelia, dear, are you awake? I shouldn't like having to repeat this too often.”

She rose up as if she were rising from her grave, her hair an absolute nest and a whole lock of it sticking to her plush bottom lip. “I'm...” she slurred. “I'm...awake.”

“Lord help me,” Cuthbert sighed. “If you both can take care of dressing yourselves, I'll go downstairs to make certain that your breakfast is ready and I'll bring it up. After you've eaten, I can work on Amelia's hair, and _you_ , ” he looked specifically at Hugh, “can putter yourself down to the drawing room and act as if you're merely calling upon our little sweet Omega as to become great friends with her.”

He turned his head to look at the bleary-eyed Amelia next to him and felt his heart expand when she gave him a kooky little grin while she held the sheet up over her breasts. He was damned sure sorry he hadn't woken up earlier than this—he could have given those the attention he'd forgone the night before.

_No matter. Eventually we'll be off to New York and I'll have her breasts in my mouth every night after._

He returned her goofy smile with one of his own, suddenly overly aware of how his jaw was slightly off-kilter when she giggled at him.

Cuthbert shifted his weight and put his hands upon his hips. “Yes, yes, you're both very adorable in the mornings and you both smell very good. But I do need you two to acknowledge that you'll be getting dressed for me while I go downstairs to see about your breakfast. If I come up here, I'll not be knocking again and—”

Hugh interrupted him with good humor. “And ye don' want to see us rollin' about under the covers?” He raised an arched brow at the servant, grinning salaciously, “Or _above_ them?”

Cuthbert's pale cheeks gained a soft powder pink and he huffed with amused disapproval before he turned tail and left, clicking the door shut behind him.

“What do you think?” Amelia asked with hooded eyes. “Do you think you could please me before the valet comes back?”

He leaned toward her and kissed her nose as he chuckled. “I take more pride in my work than te give myself such a harsh deadline. I told ye last night that I would ne'er tell ye 'no' and I won't if ye're keen on it but I don't trust myself te be done afore 'e walks through the door. My skills are better off used when I've got the time to make certain o' the details... Will ye need any help with your ribbons, Omega?”

She reached up and pulled at him, capturing his bottom lip with her teeth before she surged to kiss him, drawing away only to speak her reply. “Yes. If you would...and I suppose I shall wait, much as it pains me to do so.”

“Mmngh,” he groaned against her mouth, bringing his hand up until he'd just barely cupped one breast, enjoying the way she shivered at the touch. “I've got to be the luckiest man alive, Miss Watson.”

“Or the unluckiest,” she giggled. “It is so often that one cannot tell the difference between the two.”

“No, no...” he whispered while he drew away from her, sliding out of bed to keep himself from the temptation of her. He pulled on his outfit and managed to fuss with it enough until he was happy, save for the cravat. He didn't trust himself to tie one just right...he'd have to wait for the valet for that. With the damned thing in his hand, he looked up at her, the sheets bunched at her waist while she sat in the morning sun diffused by the lace curtains. She responded with a coy sensuality when she caught him staring at her pale breasts, making no move to cover herself but flushing and averting her gaze so that she might not have to watch him look at her. “Pretty girl,” he crooned, “don't let me embarrass ye. I love the look o' ye.”

She didn't reply but slowly eased out of the bed. Her actions naked in firelight were so different from those when she was naked in the sunlight and she moved quickly to arrange herself in her clothes, allowing him to help her as she needed him. When she was all put together, save for her wonderful hair that spilled down her back in a glorious mahogany waterfall, she turned to him and kissed him. It was plush and soft and lingering and every bit of it sent a hard tingle through him until it pooled at the bottoms of his feet. It took every bit of his will power not to throw her down on the bed and rip off the dress she'd just put on to plow her silly until she was gasping and screaming out his name with that fantasy fairy hair spilling out over the silken sheets and—

“Well at least you're both dressed,” Cuthbert stated dryly from the door, cutting off Amelia's kiss with a slight gasp. Without another word, he took the cravat from Hugh's fingers and deftly fashioned it about his throat, tucking it just where it should have gone with an approving click of his tongue. With that settled, he ushered Amelia to the vanity where he sat her down and began to tame her wildly mussed hair while Hugh watched, determined to memorize the process.

“Erm...” Hugh murmured. “'Ow did ye managed to get so versed in such a thing?”

Cuthbert smiled at him in the mirror while he brushed. “Three sisters. Two Omegas and a Beta. I was the eldest and naturally came about it through the need for them to attend the public dances. I, of course, was ever their watchful supervisor and the boy to fix every girl's hair should it become tangled in the course of an evening. That was how I met Nathan. His Aunt had gotten her coiffure stuck upon a rather ornate piece of the architecture in the garden and by the time she was able to free herself, her hair had been hopelessly ruined. I managed to salvage it with less than ideal circumstances. When he sought me out to consider me for his staff, I had to admit, I thought I was to be a lady's maid.” His cheeks flushed.

Hugh's brain clicked while he munched from the breakfast platter Cuthbert had brought up with him, biting off pieces of ham in his fingers. “Oi. I see. _Nathan_ .”

Amelia giggled. “Oh dear, I'd forgotten to tell you.”

Cuthbert frowned at her through the mirror while he began braiding and pinning. “Wonder not at any complacency toward your predispositions here or at the main house, Mr. McCowell. Lord Ormsby and I are in a much more delicate situation than you and Miss Watson. I have every motivation to help you, as does much of the staff.”

He found his mouth tight. “And Mrs. Watson?”

The valet sighed. “She's not so...forgiving. The only reason she hasn't destroyed the relative peace we've had at the manor is because she's been hoping that he would eventually assist Amelia in finding a husband. We've no idea if she could lose us everything or not...” His shoulders sagged. “With things as they are, it all seems well...until she finds out about _you_ , of course.”

He crossed his arms in front of himself, feeling very much attacked. “Well I certainly didn't _plan_ to make myself such a burden.”

Amelia reached out to him, gripping his sleeve with tender fingers. “You're not a burden, Hugh. Love is never a burden. We'll find a way...”

“Well what is the harpy goin' te do if I run away with ye?”

Cuthbert sighed and moved about, straightening the bed before he came back to the two of them, Amelia lost in the contemplation of the question. It was a difficult one, of that Hugh had no doubt. “Well,” the Beta mused, “Let's get through today at least and have a chat with Nathan when we can. There's got to be some way to get around the woman. She's been particularly on edge recently and I've no idea what's got her all up in a frenzy. If we were to prod at the bear, she's likely to out us even if it means she would be cast into a ditch for her efforts.”

“I don't care where I am,” Amelia said, drawing Hugh's gaze down to where she sat. “As long as I'm with you, Hugh, I don't care what happens...I...I just don't wish to see Nathan hurt.”

“Well then” Hugh replied, his hands on his hips. “We'll jus' 'ave te make certain she doesn't find out about me. Somehow.”

About a half hour later, he was sitting in the drawing room sipping strong black tea while Amelia told him fanciful stories of her time at Ormsby's estate and about the horses there—funny creatures, she called them, silly and prone to fits of prancing and prissy moods.

“I've never seen such a crop of willful mares,” she laughed. “Certainly they would not have been allowed to be so discourteous if they had been my father's horses. He had no patience for anyone's moods save me and mine.” She paused when she spoke of him, lost for a moment in her memories.

“Do ye miss 'im?” he asked, tilting his head with the inquiry.

“Oh yes. Very much. I fear my mother misses him greatly...it is perhaps why she is as she is. She did not used to be so frightful. It was as if he could temper her as well as he could temper the horses. Now, she's free to be as awful as she wills and everything is so overwhelming for her. She wasn't prepared to lose him. Neither of us were. Without Nathan, we would certainly be lost and yet she treats him so poorly for something so...innocuous. I don't understand. I suppose I never will. Perhaps if she were to find another mate...”

“Not as easy as it seems,” he mused.

“And you? Do you miss your family? Your father?” Her eyes glistened with her curiosity, gray and clear in the fresh spring light through the window.

_Do I miss my father?_

His mouth flattened. “Sometimes I wonder if I should. But I don't suppose I do.”

“No?” Her brows furrowed.

“My father is a hard man te love,” he explained, “He spent most of 'is life herding sheep in the fields. We ne'er wanted for warmth in the winter and 'e did well with the village. 'E was honest and good but 'e was a proud sort. I don't think he e'er forgave me for leaving and breakin' me Oma's heart.”

“Your Oma...do you miss him?”

“With every breath I take.”

She smiled. “Why don't you go to see him?”

“Agh.” He stood with his tea cup in his hand, still sipping at it. “It would mean having te go back and let my da see my face the way it is...'e thought once that I was gonna marry Kierian Rielly and that our families were gonna come together with his da's cattle and our sheep. 'E thought I was gonna help out my family and make certain we'd 'ave a right good place in the village. Everyone would see 'ow I've ruined myself...gone against...everything...” He sighed and grumbled, “ _Disappointed everyone._ ”

“Oh pish posh.” She waved her hand about. “Surely you haven't disappointed _everyone_ .”

His crooked mouth quirked. “I sent them letters with some o' my winnings when I first started winning fights. I thought I might 'ave proven something by doin' it. Showed them that I _could_ . I never got any replies. Eventually, I stopped sending anything. I thought...it might 'ave been just as well if they thought I'd...”

“That you'd...” She jerked, her featured alarmed. “That you'd _died?_ Hugh! That's terrible!”

He shrugged. “I broke my Oma's heart and my da told me he'd rather he'd seen the last o' me as I left...I'm sure they've probably willed to forget about me by now. It's just as well...if my Oma ever caught wind I was bedding an Omega, he'd probably 'ave a fit o'er it...'e'd be begging for my absolution for the rest of 'is days. Let 'im think I'm off somewhere being a better Catholic than I am...it's better for 'im this way.”

She frowned at him, obviously skeptical as he gulped down the rest of his tea and set the cup down, shuffling to stand by the fireplace. Before she could make any kind of rebuke, they heard the front doors open with the arrival of Amelia's mother and Ormsby, the scent of annoyed Alpha gusting into the front hall and wafting through the door to the parlor where it met Hugh's nose.

He tried not to wince at it while Mr. Thomhill showed the two of them into the parlor and introduced Hugh as if he had not been met before despite his presence at the dinner the night previous. He consciously gave great pains to bow appropriately.

“Oh,” Mrs. Watson blurted, “What brings you to us, Mr. McCowell?” Her eyes flitted to Amelia and then back to him as if to ask her daughter if she'd been civil enough. “It was lovely to meet you at the dinner last night and so surprising to see you at our doorstep.”

“Not so surprising,” Ormsby muttered, “As I recall, I asked him to come around today so that I might ask something of him.” He raised one brow at Hugh as a hint.

“Aye, that's right, Lord Ormsby 'ad a thought last night and 'e asked if I'd come 'round to see if I might be interested in what 'e 'ad te say. I've always thought myself an open-minded Omega...” He narrowed his own eyes at the Alpha, hoping what he'd said was correct. It seemed to be.

“Right then,” Ormsby waved a hand to the settee next to Amelia and Hugh sat. “I see you've been partaking of Cuthbert's strong tea. I hope it's not put any jitters in you as it does me. You seem the type to have a strong constitution. Mrs. Watson?” He showed her to a seat and she sat as well while he poured her a cup from the ornate china pot on the tray. He smiled a broad closed-mouth smile at Hugh and mentioned off-handedly, “Always keep your mother-in-law happy, is that not right?”

“Aye.”

Mrs. Watson waved him off while she took the cup. “Don't keep the poor boy in suspense, ask him what you're going to ask him and let him go home.”

“Well I was hoping that he might not go home...” Ormsby murmured thoughtfully, passing Hugh a meaningful stare.

“I say,” Mrs. Watson crowed, “What's this all about?”

Ormsby straightened and then sat in one of the oversized chairs next to the fire, turning to face Hugh completely, his fingertips pressed together. “Mr. McCowell, I'm a botanist. I spend most of my time doing things that many people find absolutely, mind-numbingly boring. I study the way plants develop, their characteristics, and how I might make them better by altering their genetic make up through selective breeding processes. It's a passion of mine but it's time-consuming and for a man who's got a lot of things he _should_ be doing rather than puttering about with seeds and seedlings all day, it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Hugh frowned, glancing at Amelia who was listening intently.

“When I spoke to Penberth last night, he told me that you've been actually _running his estate_ for the past few months. Since _December_ , he told me. That is a decent amount of time to be running Hollyvale, for certain, and I was wondering...if you might consider the prospect of coming to Farenfarm Manor and earn your living doing it. With a proper salary and quarters...with everything you'd need to be comfortable.” He shrugged slightly. “I understand that going back to New York would be tempting for you but I can guarantee you that I would pay you much more than you could make there and you would learn a great deal more about estate management. Hollyvale, after all, is only an outside holding of Belcourt and Farenfarm and my holdings and responsibilities are a fair bit larger and more involved.” He grinned. “I could use a man about to take the burdens from my back and you're as capable a man as any if the honorable Beta Penberth trusts you.”

The wheels in his head were grinding at full speed and he vaguely realized that he'd lost control of his lower jaw, his mouth open while he stared at Ormsby in unmitigated awe.

The viscount only seemed amused.

Mrs. Watson less so. She pulled out her fan and snapped it open. “You want an _Omega_ to run your estate? What sort of authority could he possibly command? Surely he would have trouble with such a demanding job being as small and unimposing as he is...why, he's smaller than Amelia.”

Ormsby shot her a glare which seemed to quiet her and turned his attention back to Hugh. “Mr. McCowell? Should you like to think on it for a little while? I shouldn't like to take you from Penberth as yet but as the season comes to an end, surely you'll consider the proposal? It would be quite the change for you, I know, but we could send for your things from New York and I'm certain I could provide anything you would need...save a boxing match...unfortunately.”

He felt a tumble of air escape him in a soundless laugh while his stomach clenched with nervousness. Leaving New York? _Leaving New York?!_ He did well as an estate manager and it did keep his mind and his hands busy. Despite what Amelia's uncle had said about him, he was just as good for hire as any of the servants and he cleaned up fairly well enough to pull it all off. Living with the Alpha and his Beta lover, shielded from the world at a country estate, fed well every night with his lady love in bed beside him when he slept...

“Aye...” he croaked. “Aye...I'd like that.”

“Wonderful,” Ormsby smiled, flashing Amelia with a knowing glance. “I'd hoped that you might spend the rest of the day with me if you accepted...to sort out the particulars. I'll send word to Penberth to tell him not to expect you, if you're willing.”

“Yer giving me a choice?” he asked, blessing his wherewithal for giving him the opportunity to tease.

“As an Omega and as a part of my staff, I'd like you to know that you will _always_ have a choice.”

“An odd Alpha,” he mused, taking note of Mrs. Watson's agreeing scoff.

“I'm sure plenty of people agree with you on that one. Now. Shall we sort things out? I've got a few things I can show you today and I'll hope you'll stay for dinner. I'm certain Amelia could use some entertainment as well if we're finished before too long. Couldn't you, dear?” he asked her, grinning at her polite nod. “Good. That's wonderful. Fast friends, you'll be.”

Ormsby took him into his study and sat him down in one of the leather chairs, explaining a basic outline of the holdings and duties that were waiting for him to return to when they went back to Farenfarm. While he spoke, he pulled out a bit of parchment and wrote up a note to send to Cyril and Penberth notifying them that Hugh would be staying for supper. His next note was to send for Hugh's things from New York. “Now,” Ormsby explained, “I'll wait to post this in case you change your mind but as soon as you do decide that you are absolutely certain, I'll send it right away. Naturally, I want you and Amelia to be as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances. I hope you don't mind, I've no intention of breaking off my engagement with her.”

Hugh leaned forward in the chair. “I'm sorry...what?”

Ormsby sighed, leaning his elbows on his desk. “Cuthbert and I had a long chat the other night and we've determined that this is what is best...I know that it can get a trifle tedious for you to have Alphas always trying to tell you what's best for you but consider, at least, the merits of the idea.”

“Aye...?” Hugh could feel his ire rising, unsure of how he could ever stand to share Amelia with another man.

“Mrs. Watson will no doubt be secure in the knowledge that her daughter is married, Amelia will be able to stay indefinitely at my estate, and you will be my estate manager. You see...nothing is quite as comfortable as that solution, wouldn't you say? If you go to New York, where will her mother go? Stay with us? Exact her revenge somehow? Make our lives hell? Now, I understand that going to New York is _your_ decision entirely which would, no doubt, make it much more...palatable for you...but...”

“But yer askin' me to consider you and yer mate.”

Ormsby gave pause and considered Hugh for a long while with his eyes wistful and focused. He murmured low, “That's the first time anyone's referred to him as such...”

Hugh shrugged. “That's what 'e _is_ . What'd ye 'ave me call 'im if not yer mate? Anyhow, if the plan is set with Amelia, then I'll accept it...but I won't 'ave 'er with a mark on 'er neck! Well...I'd 'ave 'er...but I'd punch ye right in the nose if ye did it!”

Ormsby smiled and barked out a laugh. “Of course. No. There'll be none of that nonsense. She'll remain unmarked and the marriage unconsummated. Though if either of you ever wish for a pup, I'm certain there are some... _creative_ methods of going about it...”

Hugh grunted while he stood up. “I'll let ye know if she e'er gets the itch.” He sighed and cast a begrudging glance to where the Alpha sat. “It's a generous offer, Ormsby. I'm glad of it and I'm happy te come run yer estate. Even if I do 'ave te watch 'er walk down an aisle as yer bride...”

“If it helps, I'll let you punch me in the gut later.”

“I'll let ye know about that one too,” he chuckled as he turned and left the study, intent on finding Amelia. She was reading, alone in one of the upstairs rooms that was cut off from just about everything else. He found her by her twinkling scent alone, sniffing her out like some kind of loyal hound with his tail wagging the entire way. He'd almost forgotten by the time he found her that he'd been disgruntled by the suggestion she continue some sham of a marriage for the sake of convenience. What what else were marriages than convenience anyway?

_A meeting of souls. A promise to God._

He sniffed away the thought while he closed the door to the small parlor and approached her as she put her book down beside her. He fell to his knees before her and whispered with bated breath: “ _Where is your mother?_ ”

“In her room, napping, why?”

“And her room is?”

“The other side of the house...what are you—?”

He drew his fingers under the hem of her skirts and tossed them up over his head while she yelped in surprise. In the darkness of her skirts, he ran his hands over her silky thighs, pulling her forward on the settee until he could open the slit in her drawers and he immediately buried his face between her legs.

“ _Oh, Hugh!_ ” she sighed, opening her thighs wide, arching her body to press against his mouth with sweet innocence. “ _Hnnngh, ahn!_ ”

Taking his time, he drew his tongue over her again and again, bringing his lips down to kiss and suck at her tangy, divine musk. He felt her hands come to rest on his head over her skirts, pressing him against her while he flicked his tongue back and forth over the tiny pink pearl that he knew sang with the joys of her passion at every pass. As he sucked and lapped, he felt her tremble and shudder, her breathing becoming erratic and labored.

“ _Hugh!_ ” she sighed, harsh with her heavy, blowing breath. “ _Don't stop...Hugh please..._ ”

She needn't have worried. He wasn't sure if he could have halted his actions or not. He was so desperate for her pleasure, desperate to have her in his mouth and to make her weep with the release of her passions—he doubled his efforts, groaning against her heated flesh while he tasted her, taking that velvet flesh inside his mouth in each loving, open-mouthed kiss. He reveled in the way she lifted herself just so slightly off the cushion, gently urging herself up toward his mouth with pulsing movements.

Inspired, he took one hand off her thigh and ran the pad of his finger around the rim of her, delighting in the hitch in her breath before he took a moment to coat his fingers in saliva to plunge them deep inside her body. Her charmed squeak emboldened him, allowing him to take his liberties where he could, lapping and kissing her while thrusting his curled fingers until she was writhing in her licentious madness.

Her release came with a shaded growl, low in her chest and guttural in her throat while she trembled beneath him, her hands pressing his face hard against her while her hips jerked upwards. She sank, boneless, against the small couch, her thighs spread shamelessly open even after he fought his way out from under her skirts into the fresh air of the small parlor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He found her panting, her breasts heaving beneath her bodice and her brow shining ever so slightly with exertion. Her cheeks were pink, her lashes against them, and her strawberry lips open in a lax and pleasured “O.”

“It's times like these, I forget I'm not allowed to love Omegas,” he murmured. “It's times like these, I forget what I am. What am I, Amelia?”

She cracked an eye and her mouth tipped up while she panted still, flashing bold white teeth. With reaching hands, she found him and pulled him down to her, against her, the whole of him a weight over her body like a blanket. Her response sent a shiver through every limb, bone, and vessel inside him, the whisper an oath of great solemnity.

_“Mine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be an epilogue. I thought it was going to be longer until this happened and I was like "okay that's like the best "end" line ever." Gotta have the epilogue though. There's two tags I haven't used and nobody's had a heat yet.
> 
> Let's have a wedding. I love weddings.


	16. Chapter 16

There were very few things made for comfort over vanity and Hugh was about done with the notion that form was a higher priority than function. His head was tilted at an odd angle and he wasn't at all certain how anyone was supposed to find any of these velvet settees comfortable at all. How in the world was one supposed to _rest_ aside from retreating into a bedroom?! Grumpily, he adjusted the small bundle that was on his chest and adjusted himself again, jabbing his feet into the air before balancing them precariously atop the settee's delicate wooden frame back. The weather was still cold in the mornings and it was only about ten until you couldn't see your breath anymore. Although plenty of the ton had suggested that Cyril go back to the country after the twins were born, the future hotelier would have no part of it, insistent that he stay in London in case his father should need him while the new Muir was built.

Incredibly, Cyril acted as if nothing had ever occurred—as if he'd never been bloated and wobbly. His exercises resumed and the Omega was steady and willful as usual. Only two weeks after the pups were born, the boxer was already trying to goad Hugh into a fight. The fortunate part about the whole thing was that the sensible Beta had overheard and firmly resisted the movement.

Now a few weeks later, the Omega in question walked into the parlor in a loose shirt and tight black woven trousers, his boots heavy on the floor while he held the other bundle to his chest. He frowned. “Don't you have a wedding to attend?”

“Don't I? I can't 'ardly forget it. 'Ow much milk can ye make? After yer done with that one, I'd fair say ye'll 'ave te do this one too.”

Cyril looked down awkwardly at the pup gently suckling him. “That's what we pay the wetnurse for. I hardly make enough though they say it's supposed to be good for them...and for me.”

“How is it good for you?” Hugh sat up, resigned in the knowledge that he would not be getting a nap. He cradled the sleeping pup in one arm and leaned on the back of the settee, resting his head to lazily stare up at his friend.

“Something about coming to love them...as if they could think that I _don't already_.”

“I assume ye do.”

“Of course I do,” Cyril grumbled. “They're not the worst thing that's ever happened to me. I don't mind them in the slightest, really.”

“Ye _don't mind them?_ ”

“No. I don't. I'm sure I'll mind them even less when they stop looking like such little _raisins_ all the time.”

Hugh laughed, looking down at the pup in his arms. “Do ye hear that? Your Oma jus' called ye a little raisin! Tell ye wot, little one; when ye're older, I'll teach ye te take a good swing at 'im and then 'e won't be able te throw insults about at ye. That sounds like a plan, don't it, Charles?”

“Everett.”

“No, _that_ one is Everett,” Hugh replied.

“Are you questioning me? The two of them came out of _my_ body, I think I know which ones they are.”

Penberth appeared in the doorway, having overheard them squabbling, his height impressive and his looming presence sending them both into a fit of silence while he leaned over the suckling babe at Cyril's chest. His voice was mild but low. “I'm afraid, Hugh, Cyril is right. This one is Charles. You've got Everett.”

“And 'ow in the bloody fuck are you even supposed te _tell_?”

Penberth smiled and gently flipped up the side of the little child's blanket, the edge of the soft cotton marked with a tiny embroidered “C.” His voice was filled with laughter. “I had one of the maids mark all of their things. Only their Oma would be able to tell them apart by scent and Cyril can't smell...I thought it would make life a bit easier if we didn't constantly mistake them.”

Hugh felt his face flatten and he took the babe—Everett—and handed him to the Beta. “Alright, to the devil with all o' ye. I've got a wedding te crash.” With that, he left, taking the brown gelding the Viscount had let him borrow and riding his way down to the side of Ormsby's town manor.

The wedding was not be set in a church—something Hugh greatly appreciated. This particular wedding didn't belong on hallowed ground and he most certainly wasn't about to go treading into a house of God after the renouncement he'd committed. Even still, he had to fight himself when he was compelled to ask forgiveness for what he'd done. The stage of the game he was at, he wasn't at liberty to even request it...he'd come too far and he was only interested in moving further ahead. Aside from that, living in sin had never seemed so desirable before...

He heard light violin music from the garden and when he peeked about the house, he saw the musicians tuning. He wasn't late. He wandered in through a servant's entrance and avoided the bustling masses of staff to slink up a side stairwell. He gently touched the hard wood of her bedroom door to the shell of his ear and felt his breath catch when he heard her light humming from inside. Hugh straightened his waistcoat, smoothed his wind-blown hair and straightened his posture before he gave a tentative knock.

“Come in, darling.”

He swung the door open and grinned. “How did ye know it was me?”

Cuthbert was behind her, setting diamond-studded golden pins into her hair. Her gown was a mass of ruffles and lace that still managed to look ethereal and wispy as it floated around her, its neckline low and shallow, letting the delicate flesh of her shoulders peek over the white lace. She spoke with her eyes closed, focused intently on the way the valet touched her hair.

“You've got a roguish sort of knock...or should I not have told you? Drat, I should have kept the mystery to myself.”

“I'll still consider it a mystery. I thought myself very composed.”

She smiled.

“Alright then,” Cuthbert mused. “In twenty minutes I'll need you downstairs Amelia, and not a moment longer.” The valet gave Hugh a measuring stare. “And I _expect_ that her hair be _exactly_ how I left it.”

“Of course, Cuthbert, of course.” His grin was wide still even as the valet left. When he turned around to Amelia again, he chuckled. “He's going to be so upset when I've ruined you.”

“Not so fast,” she told him, casting upon him a pinning glance. “I've got twenty minutes and I'll not waste them.” Her tiny nose lifted as she scented the air with curiosity. “Are you feeling frisky, Omega?”

“Can ye smell it?” he asked with a wink as he bit his bottom lip.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How long do you have before you send every Alpha at my wedding into a rut?”

“I've got plenty o' time, gal. I won't start a sweat until at least midnight, though I might make a man drool afore then.”

Amelia made a little “hmmph” before she stood up and shooed him. “On the bed. Lay down. And to save my hair, I want your hands under the pillow behind your head. You'd better lace your fingers, I know how difficult it is for you not to touch me.”

He followed her instructions after he'd unlaced his shoes and shed them, his whole body starting to tingle when he watched her carefully climb up toward him. Pieces of her hair fell in ringlets before her ears and he couldn't help but focus in on them while her gloved fingers unfastened his trousers.

“Already, Hugh?”

“Only twenty minutes,” he practically panted. “I've got no time to waste... Please. Ride me, Amelia.”

“Later,” she told him with a cheeky smirk, pinching the fingers of her gloves to remove them before laying them carefully beside him on the counterpane. When her warm hand closed around his satin flesh, he couldn't stop his shuddering sigh. Oh he needed this. Oh he needed this like he needed air in his lungs. The feeling of her fingertips against him, the way she explored him and touched him with inching query. She was so _inquisitive_ about his body and she was refreshingly open and unguarded. She was in no way coy though she was, at times, playful. Even just watching her hand as it moved over his eager flesh was enough to send him on the path toward oblivion. His excitement was hard to rein at the best of times and now, hours from a heat, he was close to desperate, his seed slowly easing from the tip of him to create a tiny pearl of fluid.

“ _Amelia_ ,” he whispered as her small pink tongue flitted out of her mouth and she jolted him with the sensation of it—licking that liquid pearl up into her mouth. “Oh, _God_.”

He could barely keep himself from whining, crying, or fully _sobbing_ from pleasure when she took him into her mouth, her lips and tongue cautiously moving over him, slow for her fear of nicking him with her teeth. The compulsion to pray was overwhelming and even as he fought himself, the flood of it all leaking out through the edges of his desire.

“ _Oh, my God. Forgive me...oh..._ _uhhh_ _nnn_ _..._ ”

She hummed while he was buried in her throat, a sound that was more for his benefit than hers, and he could have choked with his need. His fingers were laced together so tight, he could no longer feel them. He'd resisted the urge to touch the back of her head but now, with the hum of her voice over his rigid member, he wasn't sure how long his resolve could last. How long before he lost his mind and forgot Cuthbert's request that he leave her coiffure perfectly crafted?

“Amelia,” he breathed, gasping. “ _Amelia, your mouth....oh...Omega...your mouth on me..._ ”

Her beautiful brown head bobbed up and down while he watched her, twitching, his breath in short gasps and sobs until he groaned.

“Amelia... _I'm going to_...don't get it on...ah! Ah! _Ahn!_ ” His eyes rolled back even as he clung to the thought that he didn't want her to get any of his spend upon her lovely dress. As he recovered, he found that the Omega must have had the same sort of idea that he'd had, as she frowned, swallowing the whole of his expulsion with a diplomatic little swallow.

“Oh...” she proclaimed, her face pinching a bit. “Well...that is...novel. I must say, I thought it would be more like...”

He panted slightly, waiting for her thought to be finished.

“I thought it would be more like...when you've pleasured me and then...then kissed me. I suppose I thought it would be more like... _m_ _e_.”

Hugh giggled. “Unfortunately, gal, women are much more delicious than men and in many more places. I'll 'ave te thank ye though, for that. Later. Now. Ye've got a nervous Alpha te marry.”

Amelia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slipped off the bed while he tucked himself back together and sat up. “At least I don't have to pink my cheeks. You've already got them quite rosy,” she mentioned. “Though it is a small wedding, some of the ton will be there. Where will you be, darling?”

“Anywhere ye want me, but after the night is o'er, I'll be in yer bed.” He got up and walked with her while she moved toward the door.

“Then I will have some champagne sent to my room while you wait for me. I shouldn't leave until they've all finished chiding Nathan and I...”

“Send up two bottles. I'll share one with ye.”

She slapped his shoulder with one of her gloves and bit her bottom lip. “Wagtail.”

“Tease.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and then disappeared, leaving him to sit in her chair before her vanity, his scent rank with the stirrings of a close heat and his face flushed with the faded remnants of his passion.

_She's going to give me a run for it tonight...that's for damned sure._

* * *

It was late when he'd gone to find Cuthbert, catching the valet as he was fiddling with Ormsby's clothes in his dressing room. The dark-haired Beta raised his brows expectantly before he furrowed them with a modest sniff.

“You smell...very good, Hugh. Is that your heat?”

“Almost,” he admitted, while a flush tinted his cheeks. “Honestly, Cuthbert, I've no idea if Amelia will be able to...to 'elp me. I don't suppose ye might 'ave some...some o' those...uhm...”

“Oh gracious, you'd like restraints? Are you quite sure? Oh, no...forgive me. You're quite sure. It is perhaps for the best, then. I'll bring them up to Amelia's room and I'll bring up a few pitchers of water and some compresses.” He turned around, fiddling with some of Ormsby's clothes before he turned around again, his scent nervous and his eyes flitting. “You...you don't suppose...oh...I...”

Hugh tilted his head, attempting to capture the Beta's skirting glances.

“Nuh-nevermind...it's...it's highly...it's highly improper of me to...”

“What're ye tryin' te ask me, Beta?”

“It's nothing...it's...” His cheeks were flaming red and he jostled Hugh on his way out of the dressing room, frittering about in his attempt to avoid the whole of the conversation.

“Clearly, it's not nothing and I'd fair say I've got a few favors te owe you, Cuthbert, if a favor is what yer askin'.”

 “It's _improper._ ”

“And how is that any different from what we're already doin'? Look at us, Cuthbert. Servants in an Alpha's house, under 'is roof, living in sin. I've got nothing left te lose, do _you_?”

The Beta swallowed, thinking hard while he chewed his bottom lip. Resolutely, he asked, “An amount of slick. That's...that's all I need. S-small. Maybe just...a wetted kerchief. A part of your heat.” His face was blazing. “I...I won't send him into a rut if he doesn't wish it but...I want him. _All_ of him.”

Hugh raised his brows and nodded, approvingly. “I can manage that, for sure, Beta. And I can appreciate it. There's not much else more satisfying than having that knot in ye.”

Cuthbert covered his reddened face with his gloved hands and groaned in his embarrassment. “I...I'll get you your things. Whenever you have it tonight, just...wrap it up and put it in the drawer in the stand outside her room.”

Hugh chuckled as he left, letting himself bounce a little bit as he walked to Amelia's room. He could hear the soft chatter of the wedding guests and, for certain, if he showed up at the reception, he would not be shooed off—but Amelia was right. He would draw the eye of every Alpha there with his scent the way it was. It was one thing he couldn't hide and it was a part of him that he knew was painfully delicious. In the fifteen minutes it took for Cuthbert to gather the restraints and other supplies, Hugh had carefully and deliberately crafted a beautiful nest in the middle of Amelia's bed, utilizing the sheets, counterpane, and numerous volumes of her pliant down pillows.

Cuthbert very carefully attached the restraints to the bedframe without once disturbing the nest though he did inspect it, curious as to its construction. With an approving sound from his nose, he gave Hugh a slight nod and then left while Hugh stripped off all of his clothes, finding a spare handkerchief from the nightstand. He laid it on the top of the stand, ready for when he felt the first trickle down his thigh.

He'd never heard of a Beta taking a knot before but there was no reason it wasn't at least _possible_ , he thought. Cuthbert had seemed fairly determined and there was certainly no harm in the matter. At least...he didn't think there was.

Hugh went about and stoked the fire while he sipped a flute of champagne, making sure the lamps were low and the room was mostly lit by firelight. He wanted to see her in the glow of oranges and reds again. He wanted to be able to appreciate the artwork of her body with long shadows and soft golden light until he lost his mind with the need for her. Perhaps when his heat was over, he wouldn't have such terrible bruises on his wrists as he normally did. Perhaps she would be somewhat successful in taking the edge off. Though there was nothing like being _filled_.

He curled into his nest, pulling a pillow under his head while his brain fogged and he napped lightly. There was always a bit of a fog before and it was best to simply sleep through the lot of it when it happened. The onset of his heat would wake him if it came before Amelia climbed into his nest with him. He couldn't sleep through a fever—especially not that of a heat. There was a desperation that invaded those fevered dreams, a kind of pleading, longing horror that he did everything possible to escape through wakefulness, cool water, and sex.

There was drool on his pillow when he opened his eyes and groggily sat up. He felt a wetness tickle out of him and he sleepily reached for the square cloth on the nightstand, dabbing at his bottom with it until he was satisfied. Folding it into a small square, he wrapped it in another of its brethren and slipped out of the nest with it, carefully moving through the warm darkness until he could crack the door. Seeing no one coming down the hall, he quickly stashed the bits of cloth in the drawer Cuthbert had mentioned and retreated back into the warmth of the room. At least that bit was done, though he was cutting it a bit close with the start of that pressing need prodding at the base of his skull and at his temples.

_You're going to need a cock to fuck you and you're going to need it soon._

“Fingers,” he reminded himself as he finished off his champagne and then poured himself another. “Fingers will do just fine. She's got those and she's got a fine little honeypot waiting for me between 'er legs.” Even as he said it, it calmed him. He felt a dastardly shiver run from the top of his spine to the bottom while the strength started to slip away from his legs. “Hugh,” he stated in a gathered and deep tone, mimicking his father's edge-laden voice, “Get a hold on yerself, boy. It's not the first ye've 'ad a heat and it won't be the last. Ye can't lose yer mind or ye'll be dragging yer fool self across the wedding table te beg the nearest Alpha to rut ye straight into the ground.” The humor he managed to conjure put him into a fit of laughter and he climbed back into the center of his nest, laying upon his back with a pillow gripped tight in his arms. As his need increased, he moved the soft down sack over his body, the warmth from between his legs gathering in the fabric while it rubbed teasingly over his rigid stiffness.

Waves of heat began to cascade over him and he flipped himself over, the pillow entrenched between his thighs under him as he ground down into it, clenching his muscles as he moved his body, the rhythm of his hips quickening until he was groaning, a thin string of saliva dripping from his pouting bottom lip to the sheets below. Images flashed into his mind while he took fresh, deep breaths into his lung through his nose. _Green fields. The fragile brush of a lamb's ear and strange yellow eyes glowing in the dark of a barn. The rasp of shorn wool, the warmth of a dry knitted sweater, his Oma's nest just big enough for the two of them to nap and heavy with the scent of Omega. Gray Irish skies fading into blue twilight while the rains petered off and drifted off the cliffs, rolling away into the night._ “Ahhn!” he moaned, jetting over the rumpled pillow while he shuddered in release, slick flowing out of him to dampen the sheets and the backs of his thighs.

He gasped at the drifting sound of her voice from the doorway.

“I see I've arrived just a tad too late...” Her scent was powerful and distinct to his overly-sensitive nose and he drew up his glassy eyes to her form, watching her approach to set a long, ornamental box on the nightstand. His eyes could barely focus over the filigree inlay, drawn to her movements as she tugged at her ribbons. “Oh no,” she chastised him as he reached for her, “You wait for me, Omega. You'll tear the dress if you try to take it off me.”

“ _Amelia..._ ” he rasped.

“I know, darling,” she murmured while she undressed, tossing her gown onto the back of a nearby chair before she shed the rest of her undergarments and pinched the fingertips of her gloves to slide them off. When she was naked, her stockings shed like snake skins over the rug, she put a knee on the side of the bed and her first touch was to his wrist. “You had them bring you straps?”

“ _Amelia..._ ”

She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and gently guided his wrist to one of the restraints. He resisted until she quietly shushed him, the sound soothing his muddled brain enough to allow her to buckle down his arm. With the way she had him positioned, he would be face-down and he tugged against it while she grasped his other hand.

“Amelia...?”

She had him strapped down before he could pull hard and even as he considered doing so, he suddenly felt her cool hands on his hips, bringing him up to present. Her breath wisped over his slicked thighs and he shivered hard, his cheek nestling into the mattress.

“Cuthbert and Nathan surprised me with a wedding present. They told me I wasn't allowed to open it until after I'd already made it to the stairs and when I did look at it...well...I couldn't wait to share it with you.”

He groaned, the sound more animal than human—the bleating of a desperate ram.

“They said they ordered it special for me...well...for _us_ .” She moved to the nightstand and picked up the box. With her back to him, she opened it and took out its contents, turning around in the flickering firelight to show him their gift—a long, smooth piece of beautiful ivory that had been carved and shaped by an artist's loving and skills hand to resemble in as much accuracy as possible, _an Alpha's member._

Hugh swallowed hard, his wide eyes losing some of their fog as he gauged the size of the knot at the base, determining that it would be quite possible to take it and take it, he would.

“I thought it was quite large but Cuthbert informed me that the larger, the better...especially if you'd been experienced with Alphas before and if you were intent on being sated during your heat.” She continued to murmur on even as she moved behind him, his wide and expectant eyes following her over his shoulder as best he could as he was tied down to the bed. He could feel his manhood tight and swollen, heavy as it dangled between his legs, the tip of it dripping with come and slick. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted her to push that huge fucking _thing_ inside him. Amelia was still talking but he thought it was mostly to herself while his ears buzzed, missing every other word. “You know... and Nathan said... he should know, after all, since...”

The cool ivory slid suddenly between his cheeks and he gasped noisily, pressing back against the smooth pearly cock she'd so abruptly teased him with. “ _Amel_ _iaaaaaahhnnn..._ ”

“I know, darling. I know.” She continued to stroke over him, running the bottom of the shaft against him to coat it in his slick before she pressed it against him, pushing just so slightly before she removed it to place the soft pad of one finger against his pulsing entrance. Tentative and seemingly undecided, she dipped her finger into him. Emboldened by his pleasured keening, she delved into him, easing another finger inside him while he instinctively moved to take more than she could give him. A third finger and he could finally hear his moaning, breaking through the haze in his ears and his mind.

“ _Fuck...fuck me...I want...I want it..._ ” His hands clasped and unclasped, grasping at the silk sheets while sweat trickled from his hair to his neck and slick leaked continuously out of him. Her scent wrapped around his body like some invisible pall, his heat thrumming through him in waves of desire and passion. All he could think about was the inevitable relief of being _filled_ . With every inch of his insides stretched to accommodate that which could bestow upon him such wonderous pleasure...and by _her_ hand. “ _Amelia, Amelia, Amelia,_ ” he panted, crying out sharply when he felt the tip of the ivory against him again, pressing insistently until the smooth, carved head slid inside him. His breath caught and he closed his eyes, pushing his face into the mattress while she speared him slowly and deeply.

Hugh heard her little light feminine laugh as she pressed in until the knot was firmly against him. “And you called me 'needy' before. Now you're tied down to my bed and begging for me. Should you like me to take you in my hand?”

There was only a small whine from deep in his throat that broadened into a low animal howl when he felt her fingers cradle him between his legs, hefting the weight of his manhood until she was giving him heavy strokes. He shuddered and bucked his hips, still waiting for the _whole_ of that cool ivory knot and desperate for it. He wanted to get _fucked_ by it. He wanted to be rutted by it. His body tightened madly and he peered at her over his shoulder, knowing well that his eyes must have burned with glassy desire.

She drew the thing out of him by inches and he watched her examine the way his slick spilled out of him around it as she tugged. When she bit her lip again and met his eyes, she pushed it back in while his mouth opened and he groaned out his need.

“I don't _quite_ know what I'm doing,” she confessed, “Though Cuthbert _did_ give me some instructions...I do hope I do alright.” With her disclaimer out of the way, she began a timid pattern of thrusts that sent his face into the mattress again, his hips moving in time with those steady and gentle movements. Much to his relief, she became bold at his shaking and trembling motions and the passion-filled keening he couldn't help. Her thrusts became deeper, quicker, and sharper as she learned his body and recognized what he found most pleasing. A few times, she switched arms as she knelt behind him and eventually, she was secure enough that she could use her free hand to tug over the fiery velvet of his cock, more sure of herself and her actions with every second that passed.

He felt himself nearing that beautiful rise and he gathered all of himself that he could muster to form his words. “ _Knot me, please. Do it! I need it!_ ”

She faltered just for a moment and he could hear the exertion in her voice. “Are you...are you certain? It seems very large...”

“Not... _not large enough..._ ”

This seemed to placate her and she eased it down, so deep inside him that he moaned, pressing back until he could feel it working against him. She was careful. So much so that she used both of her hands, steadying the heavy ivory inside him so that she could ease it out and then back in, pushing harder and allowing him to set the pace for how much he could take at a time. It was a modest knot. It was designed to fit. An artist was to be forever limited by the medium of his craft and Hugh appreciated it for what it was. He rocked back and finally, finally, with her fingers prodding and pushing, he gasped as it popped into place.

“Oh... _In ainm Dé!_ ”

With her quick wit, Ameila reached between his legs and gave him short, shallow tugs and pulls while she simultaneously drew back with the ivory, coaxing him toward what would become a wrenching and gripping climax. He shuddered and shook through it while his eyes rolled back and saliva pooled from his moaning lips. Spurts of his spend pattered over the sheets while his manhood jerked and his muscles spasmed, the whole event fading into an honest, sublime succor.

His relief was doubled when he felt the cool wetness of a compress on the back of his neck and he sighed, the weight of sleep heavy against his consciousness. He could hear her speaking but her voice was muffled and jumbled in his ears while he felt her bustling around him, cleaning and wiping until she was satisfied and pulled him until he was laying flat on his belly, his legs parted to accommodate Amelia's truly apt wedding present.

He felt her lips come to his temple when she kissed him sweetly and felt and overwhelming surge of affection for her when she unfastened his restraints and rubbed over his wrists with her hands, soothing over where he'd pulled too hard and put lines in the sensitive flesh. She kissed the inside of each wrist, just under his palms, and then pulled up the counterpane in his nest, tucking them both in while she carefully arranged the pillows how she wanted them and nestled against him, her face close to his neck and her breath ghosting to his ears.

“Let me know when you're thirsty, darling. And be sure to wake me when you need me.”

Hugh let out a contented sigh and mumbled with closed eyes, “I love ye, Miss Amelia.”

She grazed his ear with her lips while she kissed him again. “I suppose you had better. Since I love you as well.”

Hugh grunted as he shifted, his body rubbery with his exhaustion, sliding his arms around her to run his fingers over the smooth expanse of her body. “I'm going to ravish you later...”

“Please do,” she smiled.

The last word that would slip through his lips would resound through his mind as he drifted into the depth of his unconscious, shimmering as if scales of some brilliant, lustful fish in the deep.

_“Mine."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, I've got a writing/Omegaverse tumblr ([J.D. Writes](https://jdwrites.tumblr.com/)) now up for writing posts, drabbles, headcanons, and whatever else. If you're interested in that kind of thing, stop on by and hit up my ask box to request short drabbles. I'll be doing some over there without prompts but it's nice to have that interaction. There is some really nice fanart I reblogged of Hugh and Amelia made by [brontide-wapiti](https://brontide-wapiti.tumblr.com/). I would have put it right in with the story but I would have had to resize it and I've got ten minutes to get to work. (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
> 
> **Also Available as a Tumblr exclusive:** [A short erotic drabble around 4000 words about what happens with Cuthbert and Nathan!](https://jdwrites.tumblr.com/post/165353442997/drabble-cuthbert-and-nathan)
> 
> Thanks for reading this story and hopefully if you haven't started reading [Dream By Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11901282/chapters/26886246), you'll reconsider and catch up with us while we chug along on the Alpha/Alpha train through the American West.


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